


Faith in Time

by angelwarrior



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Kid Fic, Romance, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Varric would make a good dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwarrior/pseuds/angelwarrior
Summary: When Varric breaks up with Bianca once and for all, he thinks his life will get simpler. It does — at least, until he starts falling for the Seeker. While he's figuring out how to cope with his new feelings, a child that looks suspiciously like Cassandra steps through time and asks them to take care of her.As if this shit wasn't weird enough already.
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras
Comments: 38
Kudos: 119





	1. Chapter 1

Skyhold was unnaturally hot. Clouds like popped corn dotted the sky, offering no shade. Residents of the castle dragged themselves around to perform their duties with sour faces that that made it clear that it was not the day for casual conversation. Sparkler stayed cooped up near his books, sending servants to fetch him water. It was just as well. Varric was in a shit mood and didn't feel like chatting. He sat in his room, wiping sweat from his forehead with a cloth, a letter in his hand. Bianca had replied.

V-

I’ve read your letter. I know you were awfully serious about it — about all of it. I know you think you meant everything you wrote, but you lied — to me, and to yourself. You said that it wasn’t about the lyrium. You said it was about everything else. Trust me, I know we have issues with a lot of things. But the fact is, all those issues existed before the lyrium, and we were fine. Excuse me if I come off a little flippant right now. Or pissed, or bitter, or however this letter reads to you. The truth is, I don’t know what I feel. But I know what I’m going to do — or what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to give up on us. We’ve been through it all. I know that you still love me. And I love you. I love you. So if you think you can throw away a decade of love for one shitty mistake — you can’t. I expected a letter like this a long time ago, like when I got married, or after, when everything was hard. If anything, this letter is overdue. But I already know what I’m going to do now that it’s here. I’m going to fight to have you. I’m going to fight for us.

Yours,

-B

“Shit.” Varric leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Now what?”

“Don’t you already know?” Cole asked, and Varric jumped in his chair to find the spirit standing next to him, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the paper. 

Varric pressed a hand to his chest, willing his shocked heart to settle. “Kid. What did I tell you about sneaking up on people like that?”’

Cole ignored his admonition. “Words are solid things,” he said. “You can grab hold of them in your hand, twist them, fold them on themselves until they are opposite. Silence is enough to speak, but too much a wisp to grasp hold of. When you are silent, they can only listen.”

Varric considered this. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t reply?”

“That depends,” Cole said. The spirit’s pale eyes caught his through the curtain of his blond hair. “Do you _want_ to give her words to twist?” It was an honest question, free of judgement. 

“I – love her,” Varric said haltingly, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face. “I think. I mean, I loved her for _years_.” The admission seemed to drain him. “I must’ve read this letter a million times.”

“And what do you think of it?”

“I’m _old_ ,” he said, as if that explained everything. “But she’s never spoken like this before.” He wasn’t sure why he was blabbing all of this to the kid, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I was always the one that was passionate about _us_. This… is everything I ever wanted.”

Cole regarded him silently. He seemed, at that moment, very unlike the kid that Varric insisted on thinking of him as. He seemed very much like a spirit --- removed, and yet aware.

“Cassandra reads me your words, sometimes,” Cole said.

Varric stared at him uncomprehendingly. “The Seeker _reads_ to you?”

“Yes. Swords and Shields. I like listening to it in the rain. It will rain today.”

“I can’t believe she’s not done with that trash,” Varric said, waving a dismissive hand.

“Oh, she’s read it through five times already,” Cole said. “But she wants to share it with me, too.”

“I thought she thought you were a demon.”

“She still thinks that I’m a demon,” Cole replied airily. “But she likes to share your words.” The spirit paused. “Those words seem to want more than what’s in that letter.”

“Those words are _fiction_. Shitty fiction.”

“They’re still true to you.”

Varric smoothed out the folds of the letter with an ink-stained thumb. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe I want more. But am I ever going to get it? Do I even deserve it?”

“So, do you still love her, or do you want to reply because she offers more than nothing?” Cole asked. Varric didn’t reply. He didn’t even look up. Cole didn’t seem to expect him to, and after a pause the spirit spoke again. “I think it’s _less_ than nothing, and you deserve more than less than nothing.”

Varric looked up, startled by Cole’s bluntness, but the spirit had already disappeared.

Varric collapsed back into his chair, and there he sat for longer than he would care to admit, staring at the letter from a distance that was far too far to actually make out any words – just the swooping, curling lines of Bianca's handwriting. And then, he decided he needed a damn walk, weather be damned. He wandered out of the castle, where the sun beat an unnatural, burning ray right down on the back of his neck. He groaned. Was this caused by the rift? Those useless popcorn clouds had joined to make some respectable, dark masses, but the sun found a way to snake through the gaps and burn him specifically.

Solas stopped him by the doors to the main hall. “Child of stone,” he said. “Someone is performing magic. Strong magic. This heat may be the result of it.”

"Well, if you find them, tell them to cut it the fuck out,” Varric said, too hot and sad to care. He made his way down the stairs with only a nod and raise of his hand as his goodbye.

He got to the bottom with no goal in sight. The courtyard was nearly empty, as most were doing their best to stay indoors rather than walk around in the heat. He held the letter in his hand but didn’t read it again. Instead he wandered, trying to walk off the jitteriness that had taken hold of him. And then it started raining. It just started.

"Shit," he said. He was shocked even though every sign was there, had been there all day. The humidity, the clouds joining and growing dark -- fade, hadn't Cole told him? He'd completely disregarded that.

There was no roar of thunder, no change in wind – the clouds released their burden, but they were taking their time about it, with small drops that stretched thin and light before they hit the ground. They wiped away the heat and the day was clear, fresh, and Varric took a huge, cool breath in as he ducked into the armory for shelter.

He took quick stock of himself -- wet, very wet, and fuck, the letter was wet too. There was no saving it -- the words were smudged beyond comprehension. He rubbed his face, letting out a long breath. Did it matter? It didn't matter. He wasn’t going to reply to it. He was done giving Bianca more words to twist.

"But why can't he just tell her that he loves her?" Cole's voice floated down from upstairs and Varric froze.

"His love places her in danger," Cassandra's voice now, and Varric bit back a curse. Her accent was thick the way it got when she got really worked up about something. "He would not tell her. That's how you know his love is true. Now, for this part, hold your comments till the end, because this part must be read uninterrupted."

"Why?" Cole asked.

"It is my favorite part," she admitted, and Varric's ears perked up in interest. "It is --" she sounded more than a little breathless. "Loyalty and faith realized. She has heard all of these terrible lies about him, and had reason to believe he hated her, and yet knew the stories were false. She didn't care if he liked her -- she knew he was a good man. So when -- well, you will see."

Varric sat down on the floor quietly and listened to her read. She read with passion -- no surprise, she did everything with passion, including stabbing him in the book. She certainly fought with passion. He'd noticed it from the first time he saw her fight -- she committed herself fully to every precise, vicious move, all brutality and grace. But there was a certain holding back. He could tell that there was an edge to her that was even more dangerous, a part of her that wanted to throw the training and the shield to the side and lunge deeper into battle. That part scared him, if only because he didn't quite know if she was holding back the urge to recklessly destroy the enemy or to recklessly destroy herself.

But there was no holding back to her reading. She poured her soul into every word, her voice matching each moment perfectly -- at times as smooth as a lake, at times a sea in which the waves grew steadily and ominously larger, at times a churning, breathless rapid. Varric closed his eyes and let it carry him, let it make his heart slow and then pound. The way she read made his worst serial sound like something worth savoring.

When she was done Varric leaned against the wall and let out a slow, shaky breath.

"We can pause here for today," Cassandra said, and he could hear the smugness in her voice. "It is a cliffhanger, but it is a good one. Some of the other cliffhangers are not so good, merely frustrating."

_Oh, everyone’s a critic_ , he thought. He rose from his spot on the floor.

"Also," Cole said, "you want to go to the kitchen and get a blueberry pastry before they're gone. You want -- two? To share?"

"I -- well." She sounded almost shy. "I was hoping you would try one. You see, you are very close to a child, and had no childhood. I enjoyed them as a child... I think it would be good, for you to experience such things."

"It will make me more like a person?"

"I don't know. But I hope it will."

Varric took that as his queue to leave. The rain had stopped some time while Cassandra was reading, and he stepped out into the blessedly cooler air with a strange feeling in his chest. The letter was soaked, destroyed in his hand.

He let it drop without a second thought.

* * *

It was night and Varric found himself at the tavern, relaxing with a barely-touched drink in front of him. He was in a good mood, which was surprising. The first time he'd sent Bianca the letter he'd been depressed for a month after. Now, with his lack of response confirming the end, he just felt free.

"I just can't stop thinking about it." The young elven woman in front of him twirled her glass nervously. She was in her early twenties, really just a girl, and had sought Varric out because she had been in danger of losing her apprenticeship at the apothecary – and all because she was distracted over a boy.

"Well, Fenlia, now you can," Varric said. "I'll think about it for you."

Fenlia buried her hands in her hair. "I _can't_ – if he really is cheating, I don't know what I'll do."

"You need to calm down," her friend said. Varric thought her name was Meheriel or something. He didn't really catch it, because she had muttered it under her breath and then rolled her eyes as if she would rather be anywhere else in the world. "You need to calm down," Meheriel said, "and then you need to get drunk."

"Oh, Merrie, I'm sorry. I'm wasting your time. I don't want you to miss your duties and get in trouble."

Meheriel waved a dismissive hand. "I fed the bastards what, six hours ago? They'll be fine. Sometimes I spend more time babyin them then on my own craft, and that's a damn shame."

"Meheriel's a mage," Fenlia said. "She taught herself everything she knows."

"Oh, did she?" Evelyn slid into a chair at the table with a charming smile, and both Meheriel and Fenlia sat up straight, eyes wide.

"Inquisitor!" Meheriel said. "A -- a mage? No, I--"

"Relax," Evelyn said. "Just because I'm from a circle doesn't mean I care if you were apostate. I'm actually just curious about how you learned."

Meheriel searched her face. What she found seemed to ease her worry, because she relaxed into the chair with a sigh. "I pay attention. I ask around. I love workin in the prison sometimes, after _you_ defeat a really powerful mage. Especially the cocky ones. I can insult them just a little and they spill all their trade secrets braggin'."

“Any you can pass on to me?”

“Oh, no,” Meheriel said, blushing. “Your grace _defeated_ them for a reason.”

“Well, I’ll be sending you another brain to pick soon,” Evelyn said, and turned to Varric. “Dorian asked me to take care of an old associate of his -- a Venatori mage in the Emerald Graves. You in?”

“Sure. Who else is going?”

“Cole and Cassandra.”

Varric made a face.

“Stop that,” Evelyn said. “ _I_ like her.”

“ _Why_?”

“She’s a good woman.”

“Good, sure, I’ll give you that. She’s also full of herself, and she’s got a stick up her ass.”

“You don’t know her,” Evelyn said quietly. “She’s not full of herself. She’s --- I’m her friend. She speaks to me in a way that she wouldn’t speak to you.”

Varric felt irrationally offended at the statement. _Everyone_ spoke to him. Everyone spilled their secrets to him eventually; it was his way, and it’s what allowed him to gather enough knowledge on human nature to write his books.

“And besides,” Evelyn said. “I had to have the _same_ conversation with her. Shows how much you two bothered to get to know each other before you jumped to dislike.”

Varric scoffed. “The same conversation with her? So, what, she thinks _I’m_ full of myself?”

“Yes,” Evelyn said, and Varric set down his drink in shock. He could imagine a million accusations Cassandra might throw at him --- that he was sleazy, sinful, untrustworthy, a liar. But she thought he thought too _highly_ of himself? “She thinks that _you_ think you’re charming and exciting, and that you can mock anyone that’s awkward or stiff or that has a hard time with words and people.”

Varric flushed. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes you do. To her. And the way she is with _you_ isn’t the way she is with anyone else, either. You two behave horribly around each other.” Here the official Inquisitor’s voice slipped in, one laden with authority. “When you’re not bickering, the two of you fight best together out of anyone in the crew. You’ve got a natural way of working together in battle, but I always have to think twice and then think again before I bring both of you on a trip. Try. That’s all I’m saying. I’ve told her the same thing.”

Varric looked away, sighing heavily. “Fine,” he said. “I can’t make any promises.”

Evelyn smiled. “I’m looking forward to seeing the two of you get along,” she said.


	2. Chapter 2

They’d been arguing non-stop since they left Skyhold. Varric couldn’t help it; something about Cassandra just got under his skin. He could recognize, now, what Evelyn had been saying. He could hear himself getting cruel, getting petty, and fuck, he _did_ sound cocky. He wasn’t even sure about what started the argument, but ---

“Why shouldn’t I keep an eye on you? You act in your _own_ best interests, and they might not always align with those of others,” she snapped.

“You see, Seeker, this is why you can count your friends on one hand. Or half a hand, really,” he spat back, and something in him cringed. Andraste’s ass. Was he five?

Evelyn breathed out slowly through her nose and dismounted from her horse, her face like a storm cloud. “We’re stopping here,” she said, her tone short. “This is the last inn for a while.”

Half-ashamed, half-pissed (because, really, why should _he_ have to be the bigger man?), Varric dragged his shit into his room and washed up to calm down. He needed to relax, he decided, and headed down to the tavern under the rooms. Unfortunately, he’d barely made it half-way down the stairs before he noticed Cassandra sitting there, talking to Evelyn. Cassandra’s head was bowed and Evelyn still seemed upset. And then Cassandra raised her head and Varric caught a flash of regret in her eyes. Was she as embarrassed at her behavior as he was?

He closed his eyes, sighed, and turned back around, only to nearly collide with something. “Ah – kid?”

Cole stared down at him solemnly. “She’ll arrive soon,” he said.

“Arrive? Who?”

He stepped to the side to let Varric pass, and then followed him into his room. “I don’t think you _have_ to get along before she comes,” Cole added. “But it would be nice.”

Varric shook his head. “Get along with the Seeker?”

“Yes.”

“Let me ask you something, kid. Do _you_ like the Seeker?”

Cole nodded, and Varric sat on his bed, frustrated.

“She thinks you’re a demon,” Varric reminded him.

“Yes,” Cole confirmed. He paused. "She thinks I'm a demon, but she also thinks that I don't want to be. She's not wrong. I'm not a demon, but I _don't_ want to be one."

"That sounds a whole lot like her being wrong, kid."

“She’s right about my not wanting to be one,” Cole said. “Doesn’t that matter the most?”

“That you _want_ to be good? To me, maybe. To the chantry, no.”

“Cassandra isn’t the chantry.”

“I’m pretty sure the right hand of the Divine counts as the chantry.”

Cole ignored him as if he’d spoken nonsense. "She doesn't think it's fair that I could not want to be a demon so badly and yet be one,” Cole said.

“But --- you’re not.”

“ _She_ doesn’t know that. She wants to help, but she can't say so because the chantry says something different. But the chantry lied. They told her she became a Seeker on her own, but Faith loved her and touched her mind and healed her and _made_ her more. The chantry would say Faith is a demon, but if faith is a demon, what is a Seeker? What is _she_ , and why did they allow it? If Faith _wasn't_ a demon, then maybe I'm not a demon too, but then what am I?"

Varric huffed in interest. "So our dear Seeker's all torn up, huh?"

Cole sighed. "I want to help. I know Faith is not a demon, and Faith felt her belief, and loved her, and held her in the dark and left pieces of itself inside of her to keep forever. It must have been beautiful."

"Um. Don't...describe it to her that way, okay kid?"

"Why not?"

"Just don't," Varric said, and then laughed at the absurdity of the situation. “I don’t understand why I react to her like that.”

“You didn’t like that she called you selfish,” Cole said.

“Yeah, who woul---”

“You don’t want her to think of you that way, but you can’t help how she thinks of you, and it makes you upset.”

“Wait. What?”

“So,” Cole continued, oblivious to Varric’s confusion, “You reminded her you have many friends who know you’re not selfish.”

“No. What? I didn’t say anything about how many friends _I_ had.”

“You wanted her to think about it. You couldn’t count all of _your_ friends on one hand, or both hands, or both hands and feet. Well, she _did_ think about that, after you said it. But it didn’t change her mind about selfishness, because she never really thought you were selfish to begin with. She was just upset, too.”

“What the hell was _she_ upset about?”

“That you care about everyone’s feelings, but still don’t know she _can_ be upset.”

“Trust me. I’m very aware that the Seeker can get upset.”

“Angry isn’t the only upset there is,” Cole said. His eyes became distant. “Layers of metal and leather, a shield tilted to catch the sun, face hidden behind a helmet, like a golem of hardened steel. But she isn’t a golem. She wants you to think that she is, but she _needs_ someone to know that she isn’t. Evelyn knows, and just for that she is a friend to count on her half a hand. I know, but to her I might be a demon, and every demon can recognize flesh--- even under steel.”

Varric rubbed his face tiredly. “You’re wrong, you know. I don’t care what the Seeker thinks of me. I get annoyed, but not because I value her opinion.”

“You have a way of saying you don’t care about things because you feel powerless to change them. You have more power than you think.”

“That’s not what this is.”

Cole hummed. He tilted his head, as if considering saying something more, but shook the thought away. “You should go down,” he said instead, “and eat.”

Supper was awkward. Varric kept the mantra of _flesh under steel_ in his head long enough to grit out an, “I apologize, Seeker”.

Cassandra’s eyes flashed from shocked to defensively angry, before they settled on wary. “I…apologize as well, Varric,” she said.

It was perhaps the first time they had exchanged those words with each other. Evelyn seemed pleased, but they ate their food in uncomfortable silence and refilled their wine cups several times to make it through the meal.

* * *

A full night’s sleep put Varric in a charitable mood the next morning. They rode without stop and entered the Emerald Graves earlier than expected, but the tall thick trees were packed so tightly together that they had to dismount from their horses and lead them on foot. They walked for ages without finding a suitable place to camp, and they were exhausted. Varric’s head pounded. He was still a bit hungover from the night before, and a complaint about the terrain and the heat sat on the tip of his tongue. Something made him hesitate. He glanced at Cassandra, noticing that she was moving more sluggishly than usual.

“Alright there, Seeker?”

She looked at him in surprise, suspicion heavy on her brow. “Is that a set up for some comment mocking me?” she asked.

“No,” Varric said, rolling his eyes. “You just look tired.”

She frowned at him, as if trying to decipher his intentions. After a moment, she admitted, “I am. Perhaps I---” She blushed. “Perhaps I had too much wine last night.”

Varric couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad _you_ said it, because I was about to complain about the same thing. But when _I_ complain, everybody ---”

“That’s because you always complain,” Evelyn laughed. “But look. You’ve been blessed by the maker, you lushes. Camp.”

Sure enough, they were coming into a spot that was suspiciously flat and clear.

“It’s not ideal,” Evelyn sighed, looking around. “Something’s been here. Still, we’ll manage.”

The reason for her misgivings was obvious upon a second look around. The land was flat because something --- a giant, most likely, had ripped out most of the trees.

“Are you sure that is wise?” Cassandra asked. “Whatever uprooted these trees can return.”

“The scouts will give us plenty of warning,” Evelyn said. “If anything pops up, we’ll fell it together.”

They weren’t in any mood to argue, not when arguing meant more walking around, sweating in the heat with their heads pounding. They worked together to set up tents and make a fire. The sun was sinking, and the sky turned an inky purple above them.

As soon as they got set up, Cassandra disappeared into the tent she shared with Evelyn and stripped off her armor. She emerged in a leather top and pants, rolling her shoulders. Ever vigilant, she kept her sword strapped to her back. She took her seat around the fire, her movements too rough to be graceful but too graceful to resemble a normal warrior. Varric watched this with interest.

“You still move like a _noble_ ,” he realized, and raised his eyebrows. “Guess they never train it out of you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “A _noble_?”

He shrugged, staring at the roasting nug as it dripped it’s fat into the fire.

“I do _not_ ,” she insisted.

“Don’t worry, Seeker,” he said, “You definitely don’t _eat_ like a noble.”

He meant it to be more tease than insult and thankfully, she seemed to take it that way.

She laughed. “I need energy for battle,” she said. “They eat to fuel their _games_. Did you know, at Celeste’s ball, _all_ they could say about me was---” She paused, her eyes widening and then narrowing warily.

“We’re on a truce,” he reminded her. “Remember?”

“I suppose we are,” she said slowly. “Well. I don’t care anyway, but all they could talk about was that I apparently walk like a man. They could have criticized me for a million more relevant things, in my position as Seeker, as Right hand of the Divine, but no --- _that’s_ what they cared about.”

“Well, not that it matters, but you _don’t_ walk like a man,” Varric said. He paused, thinking. Cassandra had strong, curvy hips and when not moving like a noble, she often moved a hell of a lot like a lioness. He thought back to the times she walked in front of him. “At _all_ ,” he added, with emphasis. When she flushed, he realized that said emphasis was perhaps a bit unnecessary.

Had he really been paying that much attention to Cassandra’s walk anyway? He’d like to think he hadn’t, and yet…the memories of her swaying hips were there. And they weren’t memories of glances, oh no. He had apparently…looked.

“If you did, Sera wouldn’t spend so much time admiring your ass,” Evelyn said, with her dimpled grin. Her comment pulled an exasperated noise from Cassandra, and the conversation moved along, easy and free. They managed to all get along for the entirety of supper, and went to bed with full bellies, warm with comradery and feeling safe under the watchful eyes of the night scouts.

* * *

Varric woke to the sound of screaming and the tent collapsing around him.

"Giant!" The scout's cry was sharp and breathless.

"Andraste's fucking ass," Varric cursed, grabbing Bianca and pushing away what seemed like miles of fabric as he struggled to free himself. "So much for an early warning."

He stumbled out into the open air, and Cassandra burst out of her tent a moment behind him.

"Do not blaspheme!" she scolded, but she was distracted, her eyes wide as a giant the size of a tree screamed, spitting saliva everywhere. "How did the scouts not see that coming?"

“They were fucking around instead of doing their job,” he said, and knew that she agreed when her face twisted in anger. “Seeker. Your armor and your shield’s in the tent. You can’t ---”

“I must,” she said, readying her sword. They rolled out of the way just as the giant brought a fist down, shaking the earth.

“You don’t have your _armor_!” Varric roared.

“Neither do you!” She shot towards the giant without another word.

“ _Shit_ ,” Varric cursed, shooting off bolts with new desperation. He focused his attention on the creature's eyes, trying to blind it. “Evelyn!”

“I’m casting rock armor and wards on her,” Evelyn said. “Cassandra, get _away_ from the bloody giant!”

She ignored him, her sword swirling towards the giant's legs. Evelyn sent a bolt of lightning through the beast and it screamed, shaking the trees.

Varric's blood was pounding in his ears. One big swipe and Cassandra would go flying across the air, and there was no way she would survive it without her armor. Cole, too, was weaving in and out of sight, his daggers ripping through the giant’s thick skin --- but Cole moved fast and deadly. He was fighting as he was trained to do while Cassandra, without her armor and her shield, was _winging it_ against a beast a hundred times her size.

Varric's attempts to blind the damn thing were finally successful. It wailed in despair, sinking to its knees as it scratched at its face desperately. Cassandra wasted no time climbing it and buried her sword in it’s neck with an almost feral viciousness, again and again, and it screamed and windmilled it’s arms as it fell. It hit the earth and the ground shook with a deafening finality. It took a moment for Cassandra to look up. When she did, her face was covered in blood that was not her own.

“Is everyone uninjured?” she called breathlessly.

“Cassandra,” Evelyn said. “What the _fuck_?”

* * *

“There were no other warriors,” Cassandra said. “I did what was necessary.” She knelt by the stream and washed her face, scrubbing away the fetid giant’s blood.

“You could have died,” Varric snapped.

“Did you follow me to this stream simply to give me the same lecture Evelyn has _just_ finished giving me?”

“Yes,” Varric said. “And I’m sure the Kid is going to find you later and give you his own weird-ass version, too. What were you thinking?”

"My place on this team is to divert attention away from mages and you rogues. Armor or no, I had my shield. I earn my right to live by fighting for myself," Cassandra snapped.

“There were a million ways we could have fled if you hadn’t _run right up to it_.”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about fleeing. I was thinking that we would fight --- and if we were to fight, a warrior was necessary.”

“A _sword and shield_ warrior without a shield or armor? You diverting attention only works if you can take the blows that come with it, and without gear you can’t!”

“Since when do you care about if _I_ survive?”

“Oh, right,” Varric said venomously. “I forgot I was a piece of shit who only cares about myself.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Cassandra said quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I only meant that we do not get along, and —” She paused. “I suppose nothing I would say would make much sense. You would care about anyone in your team. I just didn’t expect you to care this much.” She stood, sighing. “Fleeing truly did not occur to me. I would not have put you all in danger if I thought of it. I thought we had to fight, and if so you needed a warrior to draw the creature’s attention. That’s all.”

“You were armor-less and shieldless and you didn’t think of fleeing.” His tone was curious without judgement.

“Fleeing is always the last thought on my mind,” she said. “I hate being helpless.” The last word was spat out with such venom that Varric knew there was a history behind, a wound that would ooze if he poked at it too much.

“Okay,” He said softly, leaning against a nearby tree. He observed her for a moment, watching her scrub the blood from under her nails. “There’s someone else we need to lecture anyway,” he said. “Those _scouts_.”


	3. Chapter 3

Evelyn had already finished scolding the scouts by the time they arrived. The two men, freshly out of teenhood, had gotten distracted flirting with each other and had forgotten to keep an eye on the trees. They’d never seen anything like a giant before and were shaken to seriousness by the incident, and Evelyn looked exhausted.

“Need a drink?” Varric asked, and she laughed quietly.

“I need retirement,” she said. She thought of something that made her face brighten. “You and Cassandra seem to be getting along fairly well, though.”

“Give it time,” Varric said, and Cassandra raised her eyebrow. He grinned at her. “We’ll find something to argue about, won’t we, Seeker?”

“Ugh,” she groaned, and his grin widened.

Evelyn looked between the two of them and hummed in interest. “How about this,” she said, a start to a sentence that _suggested_ choice but brooked no argument. “We’ll switch tents. Varric and Cassandra, you two can sleep together.”

“What?” Cassandra said. “ _Why_?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever shared a tent, have you? I think sleepy conversation is the best way to build a friendship.” Her eyes grew distant as she thought of it. “Oh, yes. It’s decided then. We’re switching.”

“Did the circle make you this much of a busybody?” Varric asked wryly.

Evelyn smiled. “When you live in a tower, there’s not much else to do, is there?”

In the end, they both fell asleep the second their heads hit the bedroll. Morning came too soon, and when the rays of sun began filtering through the thin fabric of the tent Varric groaned and tried to turn away. But he couldn’t. There was a weight on top of him, restricting his movements. He yawned and forced his eyes open, blinking away the film of blurry sleep. When he realized what had happened, he stiffened.

“Um,” he said dumbly.

Cassandra yawned in her sleep and snuggled even closer to him, rubbing her face against his chest with a soft moan of contentment and complete comfort. Her cheek was soft and warm against the bare skin of his chest. Without her signature frown it was easy to notice her golden skin and high cheekbones and long lashes and full lips ---

“I’m going to _kill_ Evelyn,” Varric mumbled, and then said, in a louder voice. “Seeker?” He poked her and she shot up with a gasp.

“Waa?” She said, and then her sharp eyes darted around as she took stock of the situation. “Oh. Was I--?”

“Yea,” he confirmed. His lips twitched up as he realized the humor of the situation. “So…you’re a cuddler?”

“It---I---It’s because you run so warm, and you are covered in hair!” She threw this out like an accusation, but Varric laughed, far from offended.

“Slept with a big stuffed bear as a girl, I take it?”

“Oh, maker,” she said. “I’m going to _kill_ Evelyn. Don’t tell _anyone_ of this.”

“Oh, no, not a word,” Varric assured her. “It _might_ end up in a novel, though.”

She buried her face in her hands and groaned.

\--

Varric kept his promise and didn’t mention the events of the morning at all as they traveled that day. After a time, they finally made their way to the area where the Venatori mage should be found. They stayed fairly quiet as they searched, having only short bursts of whispered conversation.

“So,” Evelyn asked, her voice low, “Did you two get along okay last night?" 

Varric shot her a narrow look. “It was…cozy,” he said, and Cassandra half-tripped on a tree root behind him.

“I’m going to pretend that’s not sarcastic and consider this one great leap forwards for your friendship,” Evelyn said, lifting her staff in a show of faux triumph.

Varric was tempted to clarify that he _wasn’t_ being sarcastic at all, but Cassandra was already glaring at him with an intensity that didn’t bode well for his health. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of a nearby enemy or a nearby Seeker.

“Where is this mage, anyway?” Evelyn complained. “We’ve been looking for ages.”

“Oh,” Cole said, looking up at something in the sky. “He’s right there.”

Cassandra sighed. “Cole. I don’t think the Venatori have yet mastered flying —"

“Shit!” Varric drew Bianca just as the mage and his crew swooped down from the trees. 

Evelyn shot a blast of lighting at them, but they were warded, and advanced steadily. A taunting cry from Cassandra drew the attention of most of their warriors as Varric found high ground and unleashed a flurry of bolts that crippled half of their crew.

It all seemed to be going well. That is, until Varric caught scent of someone behind him and turned just in time to find him face to face with an enemy warrior that had slipped free of the main throng.

"What've we here?" The warrior’s smile dripped with malice. In his hands, he held a mace that must’ve weighed two hundred pounds. There was no space for evasion, no space for Varric to maneuver or retreat.

This was not good. This was bad. Varric took a step back as the warrior clunked closer, a sadistic sneer curling his lip. And then the warrior stumbled forwards, propelled by the hard slam of Cassandra's shield. He didn't have time to right himself as she slammed him again, and this time he crumpled to the ground, his mace sliding away across the rock. He groped for it, but in half a breath her sword was buried in his back, and the blood that bubbled from his mouth as he twitched to stillness made it clear he would not be rising again.

Cassandra was by him in a second. "Are you injured?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Feel like a dumbass, but I'm fine. Where's Bianca?"

"I got her!" Evelyn called, holding up his treasured crossbow, and Varric let out a huge sigh of relief.

He'd gotten lucky, and it was over. Or so he thought, because it didn't take him long to notice that Cassandra was in a mood. She was tense, her jaw clenched, her brow furrowed, and Varric braced himself for a lecture the second they got back to camp.

So when they ducked into their tent, he wasn't surprised when she whirled on him. 

"I am sorry, Varric."

_Wait, what?_

"I failed in my duty, and you were almost killed," she continued.

"Your duty? You saved my life! I thought you were gonna lecture me about being the rogue that let some idiot flank him without realizing it."

"He should not have been anywhere near you. That is my duty. To protect the mages and rogues, to keep enemies focused on me so that you can pick them off from a safe distance!"

_Maker’s breath,_ he thought _, I thought she was just judgmental about everyone else, but she’s like that with herself, too._ "There were six guys on you. How were you supposed to notice that one guy slipped away? And, he only got away for what, a minute before you killed him."

Cassandra shook her head. "This is not the first time I failed in my duty to protect."

Varric paused, observing the slump of her shoulders, the weight in her eyes. "What else are you blaming yourself for?" He asked. He was almost afraid of her answer. He actually wanted to hug her, which was the weirdest urge he'd ever had, but he knew she would probably throw him across the tent if he tried.

"All of this," she said, her voice small, "would not have happened had I protected the Divine as I should have. And Regalyan would not be dead."

_Oh, shit._

"Seeker —"

"Leave it, Varric. It is my burden to carry." She tilted her head, listening to the calls outside, "And it seems we must move out again. There is much ground to cover before night."

* * *

Evelyn, quite rationally, had decided there was no point heading straight back to Skyhold without taking care of as much business in the Emerald Graves as they could. And though this reasoning _was_ quite rational, Varric couldn’t help but suspect she was drawing out the trip to see if continuing to share a tent also continued to improve relations between her warrior and her rogue. Two weeks had gone by with the two former enemies sleeping in close quarters, and Varric was somewhat annoyed to realize that Evelyn’s simple tactics were actually _working_.

“What is that?” Varric asked, his voice low in the privacy of the tent.

Cassandra shoved something under her bedroll quickly. “How can you see? It’s pitch-dark. I thought you were asleep.”

“I’ve got pretty good vision,” Varric said, rolling over. “Rogue, remember? And maybe I’ve gotten so used to you stifling me half to death every night that it’s easier to wake up when you’re not.” 

“I do not _stifle_ you,” Cassandra protested. “If you were not so —”

“If I wasn’t so warm and hairy, you wouldn’t use me as your personal cuddly bear. Yes, yes, we’ve been over this before. But what’s the thing you just hid under your bedroll?”

"It —-- it is nothing," she said, far too quickly.

"Looked like a book."

"Perhaps," she hedged.

Interesting. Cassandra wasn't really a 'hedge' type of person. She was usually more blunt, more direct, and he suspected if he pissed her off in just the right way —"Something trashy, like Swords and Shields? Or one of my better works?

"Swords and Shields is not trashy! And it is not your work. If you must know, it is poetry, which you do not even write."

"I do, actually," he said, and raised his eyebrows. "You read poetry?"

"Yes," she said, her voice softer but still weaved with suspicion. "I —enjoy it. It's not a bad thing to enjoy, certainly not worthy of —"

"It was a question, Seeker, not an accusation. I would say I didn't think you'd be the type, but after the whole Swords and Shields thing —"

"And what type must one be to enjoy poetry?" She asked, defensive.

Unbidden, Cole’s words popped into his mind: _But she isn’t a golem. She wants you to think that she is, but she needs someone to know that she isn’t._

Varric chose his words carefully. "I mean, didn't think you'd have the patience for someone spending a page and a half comparing their lover's hair to oranges."

"Oranges? That is a horrible metaphor. Are you sure you write poetry?" He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Not the greatest example, but you know what I mean. Work with me here," he said.

She snorted, and then stifled a laugh behind her hand, eyes wide as if she were surprised at herself. "I prefer...practical things, yes,” she admitted. “But poetry and stories are my exception. I loved them since childhood." She pulled the book from beneath her bedroll and held it almost tenderly. "You write poetry? I have not encountered it."

"I don't publish it."

"You should," she said, and Varric raised his eyebrows. That sounded almost like a compliment. "Do you know," she added, with a mischievous smile that usually ended in her doing something she thought was wicked but wasn't wicked at all, "I wouldn't think you'd be the type for poetry."

He tilted his head. "Do go on."

"There is a raw honesty to poetry," she said.

"And I'm a liar?"

"Well, yes, but that's not what I meant," she said.

He snorted. "Well, _thanks_. So what did you mean?"

"You are — reserved. I would think you would be reserved even against yourself. But it seems you are not." She paused, shot him a calculating look. "Unless your poetry is bad."

He wanted to get mad, like he used to, but the fire just wasn't there. Instead he found himself fighting back a laugh.

"You're right,” he lied. “It's horrible."

"Well, if you let me _see_ it —"

"I knew you were going to say that about ten sentences ago. You're not as suave as you think."

She didn’t respond, but he could almost hear her brooding.

“How did you plan to read that in the ‘pitch-dark’ anyway?” he asked, curious.

“Oh. I thought you were asleep, and you are a very heavy sleeper, so I would have lit a candle. I’m not going to light it anymore, mind —”

“I don’t mind if you do,” he yawned, stretching. “As you said, heavy sleeper. A little candlelight isn’t going to bother me.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Knock yourself out,” he said.

And so she curled up in a corner, lit a candle, and began to read. Varric fell asleep to the comforting sound of pages turning, and it was almost — _almost —_ as cozy as the weight of her head resting on his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

“No! Leave me alone!”

The sound of the child shouting drew Varric’s attention away from the end of their conversation with Fairbanks to the back of the encampment, where a little girl was yanking her arm away from a woman. The woman looked harried — her face was flushed, her hair was escaping it’s bun, and her eyes were ringed with dark circles.

“Haley,” she said, forcing patience. “You —”

“I don’t want to be here anymore. And I didn’t want it! So that’s why —”

“You look like a _boy_ ,” the woman snapped, her eyes filling with frustrated tears. “Why would you do such a thing? Your lovely hair —”

The lovely hair in question was cut short, the red locks a choppy uneven few inches from her skull, and the girl’s freckle-filled face was set in a snarl.

“I don’t want my _lovely hai_ r!” Haley said, “And I don’t want to be trapped here anymore!” She breathed deeply, gathering something — perhaps gathering anger. And then she spat, “You’re not Father. You’re not boss of me!”

She ran off into one of the makeshift shelters, and the woman she left behind buried her hands in her hair and made a sound of pure frustration. Varric drifted closer.

“Varric,” Cassandra whispered harshly. “What are you doing?”

“What? Maybe I can help.”

She glared. “You mean, maybe you can collect their story for your work.”

He started, stung. It had been weeks since Cassandra had tossed out an accusation like that one.

She wilted. “I apologize,” she said, and winced. “I just…”

Now he was curious. “You what?”

“I — when I was young, I had a similar…moment. All I needed was time to be angry, but my uncle —” She cut herself off, her eyes flashing as she recalled the memory. “And then afterwards, because of who we were, because of the scandal, many were… interested. I wonder if this girl has lost someone. I feel that she has.”

Varric studied her. She stood stiffly, made awkward by the impromptu confession. “Come with me, then,” he said.

“Come _with_ you?”

“You’d be able to help her more than I could.”

Her eyes widened a fraction in surprise. Before she could respond, the decision was taken out of their hands; the woman noticed them.

“You’re the Hero of Orlais,” the woman said. She stepped forward and then hesitated.

“Oh maker,” Cassandra muttered. “No.”

“You are!” the woman insisted. She bowed quickly and then covered the distance between them, reaching for Cassandra’s hand. “Oh, it’s an honor, my lady…ser… what do you prefer to be called?”

“ _‘Seeker’_ works,” Varric said, smiling a little.

“Varric Tethras!” the woman said. “You wrote _Swords and Shields_!”

“You read _Swords and Shields_?” Cassandra asked, suddenly interested. “Do you _see_ , Varric, there are those that read it.”

“We were wondering if we could chat about your daughter,” Varric said smoothly. The woman paused.

“She’s my brother’s daughter,” she said. “She… her mother died many years ago, and then my brother passed in the war. So now —” she glanced in the direction Haley had run, worry taking her face again. “Haley’s cut off all her hair,” she said helplessly. “I don’t know what to do with her. I love her. I love my brother. But I just lost him _too_ , and she’s—”

“Might I speak to her?” Cassandra said.

Varric looked up in surprise, wondering at the sudden change in attitude.

“If you think it will help, then please,” the woman said. “I don’t know what to do.”

Cassandra tilted her head towards the makeshift shelter, silently asking Varric to come with her.

The shelter had no door, just a sheet hung over the entrance. They pushed it aside and stepped in and found that the girl was lying on a bed on the floor, her face buried in a threadbare pillow.

“Hey there,” Varric said gently, and the girl turned around and looked up in shock.

“Who—” she paused when she caught sight of Cassandra, her eyes widening. “You’re the dragon lady!”

Varric watched in amusement as Cassandra resisted the urge to groan.

“I am,” she forced herself to say. “I…I could not help but notice that you were upset.”

The girl’s face darkened. “I’m bad, aren’t I?”

“ _No_ ,” Cassandra said.

“Yes, I am. I cut my hair off. I yelled at Aunt Maria. Father would be shocked.” Her face twisted in shame.

The awkwardness drained from Cassandra instantly. In a moment she was on her knees, taking the girl’s hands in her own. “He would _not_ be,” Cassandra said, and then, “I lost my father, too.”

Haley looked up in surprise. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “And…your mother?”

“Yes. My mother,” Cassandra said. “And then my brother. Everyone. I was left alone with my uncle.”

“Like me,” the girl said.

Varric swallowed. He’d known this — of course he’d known this about her, but hearing her _say it_ seemed to make it real. Something welled up in him that made him hate everyone that had ever hurt her — even his past self, the self that had found it appropriate to use her loneliness as an insult. He felt…protective. As soon as the thought came, he forced it away. Cassandra certainly wouldn’t want him or anybody else feeling _protective_ over her.

“Like you,” Cassandra said “And do you know, I —” she paused, closing her eyes for a moment in the weight of the memory. “After my brother died, I destroyed my favorite things. I screamed at my uncle. I screamed at the Maker. It didn’t seem fair.”

“It’s _not_ fair!”

“It is not fair,” Cassandra agreed. “And you are not bad for being angry.” She paused. “Did you like your hair very much?”

“I did,” the girl said, speaking through tears. “I spent all my time trying to put braids in it. It was so _stupid_. I should have spent the time with Father instead, but I did all of these _stupid_ things instead, running around outside with my friends — who cares about friends? Who cares about my hair? Now I know better, but I can’t ever fix any of it because he’s dead!”

“No matter _what_ you did, you would have felt like this now,” Cassandra said. “There would have never been enough time to spend with him. It’s not your fault, your friend’s fault, your hair’s fault — it simply _was not fair_. And let me tell you a secret: your Aunt is just as angry as you are.”

“She isn’t. She doesn’t seem it.”

“Adults lie,” Cassandra said, and Haley looked up at her in shock. “Yes. It is best that you learn this now. They lie, and they hide things. Your Aunt hides that she is angry because she thinks it is wrong to let you see. But she misses him, and she doesn’t understand, and she regrets things, and she is angry just as you are.”

“I _need_ her to be angry,” Haley said. “I feel like I’m the only one who cares. I wish she would let me see.”

“So that you could be angry together.”

“Then we could be angry _together_ , instead of it always being me that’s bad all alone!”

“We will talk to her,” Cassandra said. “And ask her to let you see, just a little. What do you think about that?”

Haley nodded. Her face was red and she was still sniffing, but she seemed relieved. Cassandra reached out and wiped the tears from her eyes. Haley extended her arms, and Cassandra pulled her in for a fierce hug.

“You will find many who share your sadness,” Cassandra said. “The world is not fair, but it is not lonely.”

* * *

Cassandra, who found it easy to speak to Haley, stumbled awkwardly over her words when faced with the girl’s aunt. Varric stepped in and used his way with words to communicate that what the girl needed, far more than a responsible adult, was a companion in grief. An explanation of the hair pushed the poor woman to tears, but they were tears that spoke of understanding her niece in a way that she had not understood before. With this done, they left. On the way back to camp Varric and Cassandra found themselves walking a bit closer than before.

“I want to apologize again,” Cassandra said. “I — I know that you did not want to simply use them, but at times my tongue is faster than my discretion.”

“Don’t apologize. Listen, I probably _would_ have used some part of their story in my work.”

“But it wasn’t your motivation for wanting to approach. You gather such stories because you always want to help, or because you truly want to _know_ people. I do understand this about you, I just —”

“I poked at a sore spot. I get it,” Varric said. “It was a good thing you stepped in. I wouldn’t have known what to say to her. Not the way that you did.” He paused, smiling. “I think Haley will always remember her dragon-lady Hero of Orlais.”

“ _Maker_ ,” Cassandra said. “You’d think they would forget that.”

“People tend to remember dragons, Seeker,” he said, and then paused, nodding towards Cole. “You know, I’m surprised the kid didn’t step in. He loves helping with things like that.”

Cole seemed too far to hear, but apparently, he did, because he turned to face them with a pleased smile. “She needed to hear from you,” he said. “You needed to speak to her. Varric needed to see. All three of you helped each other.”

“Well,” Varric said, raising his eyebrows. “I guess that works.”

* * *

It was night. The soft light of a candle filled the tent, and Cassandra lay flipping through one of her books, mouthing the words as she read. Varric was taken by the sudden urge to hear her read; it tugged insistently at him, and every attempt to ignore it simply made him think of it all the more.

“Anything good?” Varric asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “I like this poem. It is very simple, but I like it.”

“Read it to me,” he said, half-afraid she would refuse. But refusing didn’t seem to cross her mind.

Instead she began. Not for the first time, Varric mused that she had the perfect voice to make words sing. He wondered if she knew that.

“You do not have to be good,” she read. He enjoyed the way her thick accent wrapped around each word. “You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.” She paused, as if considering whether to argue with the poem. Instead she continued reading.

“Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.”

Varric let out a deep breath, satisfied. “I like it,” Varric said.

She made a noise of assent. He could hear her close the book.

“I find myself… wanting to respond to it,” she said.

He smiled wryly. “To tell the poet that they’re wrong?”

“Yes.”

“They’re not wrong.”

“No. But —sometimes it is easier to walk through the desert on your knees. Or, not easier, but... somehow simpler.” He could hear her inhale in frustration, trying to find the words to express how she felt.

“I get it,” he said, and he did. “It feels like that’s where you belong. It takes more thought to stop than to keep going. To stop, you’d have to convince yourself that you _deserve_ to stop.”

“Exactly,” Cassandra said. “Yes, and to convince yourself seems impossible, because there is a reason you are repenting in the first place. A reason that brought you to your knees to begin with. It cannot be easily discarded.” She sighed, seemed to deflate. “I still enjoy it, though —the poem.”

“Yea. I like it, too,” Varric said, and that was the truth.

Cassandra hummed. They let the silence have it’s space. Then, she slipped the book in her pack and extinguished the fire. A moment later and her head was resting on his chest; she had long ago accepted the inevitability that she would end up there anyway. He wrapped his arm around her, as had become his custom to do. For a moment, she simply listened to the beat of his heart through his skin.

And then she said, “I knew that you would.”

She looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded with sleep, and he looked down at her.

Cassandra was beautiful. He knew that, objectively, from day one, even when she was stabbing books and screaming at him. But there was a difference between knowing someone was beautiful objectively and thinking they were beautiful _personally_.

This was beginning to get personal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem in this chapter is "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver. I wanted to preserve the line breaks, either by formatting it as a poem or by using dashes, but it ended up being too distracting. Hopefully it still reads well because I really love that poem.


	5. Chapter 5

They’d spent over a month working in the Emerald Graves, and Varric had gotten used to purple-skied twilights like this one. Evelyn was tending the fire in the center of the camp, speaking in low tones with Cole. A ram had been caught, roasted, and split evenly amongst the group, and Evelyn had even gotten her hands on some sweet Ferelden wine. They’d mixed it with water and passed it around, and Varric was feeling pleasantly full and just slightly drunk as he finished off the last of his writing.

There. It was perfect. Or, as perfect as this swill could be. He folded it carefully and slipped it into his pocket. When he got back to the tent, he would hide it in a lockbox and then bury that it in the bottom of his pack, as he had taken to doing. It wouldn’t do for Cassandra to---

“You are done writing so soon?” Cassandra’s voice made Varric stiffen. She stepped forwards, besides the tree where Varric was resting. “That was a poem, was it not?”

A bolt of icy fear shot through him. “Reading it over my shoulder?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully light.

It was a poem — an overly-sentimental piece about a man that lay dying after a battle with a beautiful warrior that he’d always loved. As the dark curtain of death descended, he looked up at her and tried to memorize her face. It was ridiculous, cheesy. And the description of the woman’s features was uncomfortably similar to Cassandra’s.

“So it _was_ a poem?” Cassandra asked. “What was it about?”

 _Good. She didn't read it_ Varric thought.

“Oh, all sorts of things,” he said airily, and she made a sound of frustration.

“I will never understand why you are so secretive about your work.”

“You can read as many shitty second drafts of Hard in Hightown as you want. I’ve never let anyone see my poetry,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Not a soul?”

“Not a soul. And I don’t talk about it, either.” _Because it’s usually too embarrassing to talk about,_ he added silently.

“What about —” she hesitated, the silence stretching and growing long. “—Hawke?”

“No, not even Hawke. But you weren’t going to ask about Hawke, were you?”

She shifted uncomfortably.

“You can ask,” he said. “I won’t bite your head off about it like last time. Promise.”

She eyed him for a moment, as if checking the truth of his statement. “…what about your Bianca?”

“She’s never seen it either.”

“Truly?” This seemed to shock her. “That… does nothing to reduce my curiosity about it, actually.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” he agreed. “Chasing secrets is kind of your thing, isn’t it?”

“It is not,” she protested. “You are thinking of Leliana.”

“Hmm. Am I?”

For a moment she did not respond. Instead she sat next to him near the tree, stretching her long legs out. “When I was angry at you,” she began.

"Which time?" he interrupted, and she wrinkled her nose.

"You _know_ which time, dwarf," she said, her tone curt, and he smiled.

"Yeah, yeah, what about it?"

She paused. "I knew that it was strange to expect you to be honest with me. Truly, I was angry at myself. It was just another way I might've ... changed things, perhaps, if I had taken a gentler approach, or if I had found Hawke without you. I was furious at myself, and I took it out on you."

"You had a point," Varric was surprised he was saying it, but it was true. "I didn't tell anyone, even after I hitched up to the Inquisition. I should've. I guess a part of me still felt like this was just a temporary alliance, that my real place was with Hawke's crew. I _believed _in the Inquisition, but I was _loyal_ to Hawke."

"What changed?"

"Haven. People were giving everything. Their lives. Evelyn was jumping into burning buildings pulling people out. And then she --I thought she was dead. Everyone did." He remembered the feeling. Everyone sitting in the snow, around each other but alone, burdened by faith broken. They'd propped a young woman up as their religious leader, and given her impossible burdens, and she had carried them all and tried her best until it killed her. She'd held nothing back. And there he was, with his fucking secret. He'd wanted to vomit. "I realized when I thought she was dead that she deserved my loyalty all along. I hadn't been sure before, and then I was, when I felt like it was too late."

"I see," Cassandra said. "You are slow to give loyalty, but once it is given, it is true. It was hard for me to understand, as I'm a bit different."

"Oh, I know. Fast to give, slow to lose.” He paused. “Fuck, you must get hurt a lot."

"I am very resilient," she explained, and he laughed softly.

"Yeah," he said, affection warming his heart. "I guess you are."

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Evelyn called.

“Trying to figure out why we’re _still_ running up and down the Graves,” Varric shot back, and Evelyn laughed guiltily and shrugged.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Varric rose and made his way to the tent, Cassandra close behind him. They’d barely taken two steps in when Cassandra started stripping, changing into her bedclothes.

"It was obvious why she extended this trip,” Cassandra said. She sighed. “I appreciate why it had to be done, but it does irk me that she must have thought of us as children who could not behave.”

"Couldn’t… behave?" Varric was having trouble concentrating. The first time she’d done this, he’d had tried to turn around until she was done, but she had scoffed and said, ‘Thank you for being a gentleman, Varric, but I am a warrior and am perfectly used to undressing in the company of men’. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he'd wanted to turn around not because she was a woman, but because he was attracted to her. The issue had only gotten worse as time went on, as his fondness for her grew and his attraction increased in equal proportion.

So there he was. Sitting on his bedroll, staring at the corner of a tent while trying to hide how much effort he was putting into not looking at her.

"I am sure she feared our arguing would have caused much larger issues. Perhaps that is true,” she said, oblivious to his discomfort.

"Hmm.”

Cassandra finished dressing and knelt on her bedroll. "Now, we are far more comfortable, don't you think? I thank you for that."

"...me?"

"You made the first apology. And it is not easy to write an entire novel," she said. "You made light of it, but it was a lovely act of kindness."

Varric flushed, embarrassed by the attention towards his efforts. "Well," he said, trying to lighten the mood, "you passed that kindness on to the Kid, I hear."

"The Kid?"

"Cole."

"Oh! Is that what you call him? I cannot keep track of all your nicknames."

"They're pretty self-explanatory."

"They are not. You call The Iron Bull 'tiny', and he is like a mountain." She made a gesture with her arms to show how big he was.

Varric snorted, his heart clenching. The little quirks of hers that he used to find awkward and annoying were starting to become painfully adorable. Adorable. Now that's a word you wouldn't expect to use with a woman like the Seeker.

"Tiny works _because_ he's like a mountain,” Varric said. “It's a joke."

"Once you know who it refers to, yes. But if someone simply says _Tiny_ , one would never think of Iron Bull. _My_ nickname at least it brings me to mind." She paused. “How did you know that I’ve been reading to Cole?”

"He told me," Varric said. "Even if he didn’t, I think I would have noticed you two heading off to the trees with a book in hand every other evening. Why do you do that, anyway?"

"I told the Inquisitor to get rid of him, but she would not. And so he stays. And if he stays, if he can possibly be saved, I would like to do it. He is ... he means well. He would have been a sweet boy."

"Don't you think he's a demon? Since when did the chantry teach that demons could be saved?"

"Do you not think he can be saved? You seem to be fond of him."

" _I_ don't think he's a demon. It'd be nice if he learned to not pop out of thin air or read my mind out loud so often, but otherwise he's fine."

Cassandra paused. "I think," she said, choosing her words carefully, "the Chantry has proven that it does not know everything, and does not always share what it does know, even amongst its most trusted members. I will pray, and hope the Maker guides me to make choices that please him. And I feel that Cole can be taught to behave in ways that make him less susceptible to...becoming dangerous."

"Through shitty literature?"

She sat ramrod straight in annoyance. "You insult your own work just to vex me."

"I insult my own work because it's trash. Vexing you is a bonus."

"You are hilarious, Varric," she said dryly. "Make sure to mention that in all of your future novels. Truly, a comedian."

"Ah, come now. I used to get true annoyance out of you. Unfettered rage. Book stabbing. Now it just seems like you're tired."

"Exhausted, dwarf," she said, and faked a yawn, laying down and stretching in one long, exaggerated movement. "My hair grows gray listening to you knowing that you could instead use this time to write the next chapter of Swords and Shields."

"Oh, Seeker," Varric said. "I'm going to write the worst cliffhanger, just for you."

She was half asleep, but she found the energy to groan.

* * *

"Okay, there's definitely some kid of horrifying insect in that plant."

Cassandra squinted. "That is part of the plant."

"Andraste's---"

"Blasphemy," she reminded him, but her voice was light, almost smug. "How is it that you know of every poisonous plant, but are entirely clueless about every normal plant?"

"Poisonous plants are useful, _for poisons_. And that plant was not normal. I'm glad I don't dream, because I'd have nightmares about that thing for sure."

She laughed, and he refused to examine the way the sound filled him with light and warmth. Over the past few weeks he'd discovered that anything to do with him being grumpy was hilarious to her, and he'd brought it up a few times just to hear her laugh. It a source of curiosity to him; her laugh sounded a bit like that of those of the nobles that loitered around Skyhold's halls. It was more real, freer, but yes, there was a hint something in it that suggested upper class. He wondered if it was something she picked up in childhood, in Nevarra.

The sound of it was addictive. Sometimes he'd be swept into laughing with her and she would grin at him, her eyes warm, and, Maker take him, his breath would catch and his heart pound.

And then he’d realize a pounding heart was a very, very, bad sign, and he’d change the subject as soon as he could.

"You should write a poem about it," Cassandra suggested, drawing him from his thoughts. "a dark poem, perhaps, about the horrors of plants and grass and hills and sun and caves and all of the other things you dislike."

"That would be a long poem," Evelyn called back. "He hates everything!"

"Ouch," Varric protested. "And you, you haven't stopped mentioning the poetry since I told you about it. I'm not going to show you, you know."

"What is the point of writing it if you do not publish it?" Cassandra asked, a distinctly whiny tone to her voice that made Varric snort.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe I have a lot of feelings, Seeker."

She glanced back at him, sizing him up. It was a quick look, but he could tell she'd taken his quip seriously and was considering the tragic implications of him using a playful personality to cover up some deep, emotional turmoil.

Great. Now she'd be even more curious about the damn poetry. Considering that the last one he'd written went on and on about the way she moved in battle, he would rather die than let her catch a glimpse at it. Fade, he'd probably die if she caught a glimpse of it, because she wouldn't even finish reading before she started stabbing him to death. He half wanted to stab himself to death for writing it; why in Maferath’s ass had he done that?

It was…bad. This was bad.

And it wasn’t helped by how easy it was to make Cassandra blush. He caught her looking at him in quiet moments. Maybe -- well, at times it almost seemed like she was as interested as he was becoming. 

_Stop, _he thought. _ A few weeks ago you couldn’t talk to each other for more than three minutes without risking homicide._

Stop. Such a simple thing to do. And yet, weren’t these things always easier said than done?

* * *

Varric woke to find Cassandra resting on top of him, as usual. Her mouth was slightly open and her lips looked soft and inviting. Her hand was splayed out next to her head, and in her sleep she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest.

When she woke, Varric knew she would smile sleepily at him, perhaps rest for a bit longer, and then sit up, ready to face the day.

Varric could imagine a different type of morning. He could imagine her waking slowly, regarding him with warm eyes before leaning in to kiss him, her arms circling lazily around his neck. He could imagine the sweet slide of her tongue against his, her soft breasts pressed against his chest, and how it would feel to roll her underneath him and —

_Don’t,_ Varric thought.

Carefully, his cheeks burning with guilt, Varric maneuvered his way out from under Cassandra. He sat next to her for a moment, scrubbing at his face as he watched her stretch in her sleep. His skin felt hot and sensitive, as if every inch of his clothing existed to tease him, and his pants were tight with lust. Varric stood, light on his feet, and pulled a bar of soap out of his pack. He crept silently out of the tent and then out of the camp. Moving with all of the deftness of a rogue, he made his way to a deep creek nearby that stood hidden behind thick trees. Only then could he breathe.

_Don’t think about her, _ Varric thought, pulling his tunic over his head. The slide of the fabric on his skin sent shivers down his spine. _Maker._

They’d dealt with morning erections so far. Cassandra mostly ignored them —at the beginning, she’d flushed and seemed torn between annoyed and embarrassed, knowing that it was nobody’s fault but her own that she woke pressed against him closely enough to feel it. Recently they seemed to add an almost domestic quality to their mornings —she no longer leapt away from him upon waking, but would stay in his arms as she woke, at times snuggling closer regardless of his morning state. More than anything any morning stiffness had simply seemed nothing more than a sign that it was early, that he was sleepy, that the day had not yet begun. It was intimate, no longer embarrassing. But this was not a simple morning erection. His blood was on fire, and it was burning for her.

_Don’t,_ Varric thought, unfastening his pants. _Don’t think about her. Don’t think. Don’t._

Naked, he waded into the lake. The water was cool, which helped, but not enough. Varric ducked his head under water and then began to soap up, carefully avoiding his cock, carefully ignoring how even his own touch pushed him to higher levels of arousal.

He was so focused on not thinking that he didn’t listen to the trees as he usually would, and so was entirely shocked when Cassandra stepped out of them, fully dressed but holding a bath cloth loosely in one hand. _Cassandra_ , of _all_ people.

“Varric —!” She dropped the bath cloth that she was holding and gaped at him. Her eyes flickered down and Varric looked down too, ensuring that his bottom half was sufficiently hidden by the water. It was. Then he watched as her gaze rose, lingering on his chest before coming to settle on his face. When their eyes locked, she blushed fiercely and then seemed to come to her senses.

“I-” she said, and without another word shot off back towards camp.

Had she—? Why had she—? There was no reason, simply no reason for her gaze to flicker down, no reason for it to linger on his chest… unless she had been curious. About him. In that way.

Lust shot through his brain, fogging out all reason. He took hold of cock in a soapy hand, shuddering in relief at the feel of his hand around his sensitive skin, and at that first swoop of pleasure Varric lost. He thought about her. He thought about her in flashes of memory and imagination, like one of the dreams that his dwarven blood ensured he could not have. He thought about golden skin and full lips and dark hair and the round curve of her ass and long, long legs drawing him closer. He thought about her thickly accented voice, his name pulled from her like a prayer as she arched in pleasure. Soon enough he tensed and then shook, shooting his seed out into the cool water, biting his lip hard so as not to moan her name aloud. No, he didn’t say her name, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking it. Every inch of his body called for her.

* * *

Varric returned to camp dried and dressed with no plan but to avoid eye contact with Cassandra for the rest of the day. The woman in question, however, accosted him almost as soon as he arrived.

“Varric,” she said, stepping in front of him. “I —”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “Really.”

“We see each other in various stages of undress all of the time,” Cassandra reasoned.

“Exactly,” he said. He still couldn’t meet her eye. What had been his logic before? That she wouldn’t have looked if she wasn’t interested? He suppressed a groan. _Anyone_ would have glanced. It was practically instinctual. “Let’s just…forget it happened,” he suggested. “It’s not even worth remembering.”

She agreed easily, relieved, and for the rest of the day seemed to have truly forgotten it. Varric couldn’t, though, and it lingered at the edges of his mind.

* * *

Later that day, Varric penned another poem. This one was about tracing the scar on her cheek and he crumpled it up immediately, shoving it in the bottom of his pack with a pounding heart.

Shit. Shit. He was falling in love.

* * *

It was night. They had been traveling for hours, thankfully with very little interruption. There had been the bear, but Cassandra took a strange, demented pleasure in felling bears, so that was more entertainment than anything else. They had found flat enclosed land that seemed as good as any place to set up camp, so set up camp they did.

And now Varric was staring at the roof of the tent, listening to Cassandra take off her armor.

_Clunk. _ She set a piece down. Perhaps her chest piece, perhaps a pauldron -- Varric wasn't going to look to find out what. After the armor came off, her under-armor would follow, and Varric didn't want to catch a flash of soft golden skin.

Her armor sounded heavy. Each piece sounded heavy. A part of him couldn't believe she wore it, dragging it along every day as they climbed for miles.

_Clunk. _ And then silence, and then the soft rustle of fabric. A few moments of this and then Cassandra sighed, a sigh that Varric dared to guess meant that she was done.

He risked a glance and she was fully dressed, her eyes closed.

He watched her for a moment. She seemed tired, relieved that the day was over.

"Seeker," he whispered.

"Hmm?" she didn't open her eyes.

He hesitated. "You know, I let him out."

"Let who out?"

"Corypheus. Hawke and I--"

Her eyes snapped open. "Varric, that's -- you could not have known. It's not your fault. Anyone would have--"

"And you couldn't have known either. Nobody could've. It's months after the fact, and we're still figuring out what happened."

Her brows drew together in pain.

"Just because there's nobody around to blame doesn't mean you have to shove it on yourself. Maybe you just didn't want to blame the Maker."

Her breath was uneven and shaky in the small tent. "Leliana almost broke," she said. "Even now she struggles with her faith. I cannot. I refuse. But I do not blame her. There is a hole in the sky, and a monster who claims godhood murdered the most faithful and corrupted the chantry's holy army."

She sat up, pulled her knees to her chest. "I don't blame her, but I refuse to waver. I did not waver when the world had taken everything from me – my parents, my brother. I had nothing, no reason even to remain in this world, but I kept faith in the Maker."

"And Faith felt her belief, and loved her."

"What?"

"It's what the Kid said. About the spirit of Faith that visited you."

She winced. "A demon."

"I don't think so. Doesn't the chant say that spirits were the first children of the Maker?"

"And they became envious, and became demons."

"All of them, though? They had to get jealous or lose their minds to become a demon. Do you think Cole is like that?"

She was silent for a long moment, and then sighed. "No. Perhaps there are...pure spirits that have the strength to experience our world and stay pure. Perhaps Cole is such a spirit."

"And maybe the Spirit of Faith is another."

Cassandra considered this, laying down to stare at the roof of the tent. "And it _loved_ me?"

"I guess if Faith is the only thing it cares about, and you were filled with faith..."

"I suppose...it does not sound as distasteful as I once found it."

Varric shrugged. "Doesn't sound distasteful at all" 

Cassandra didn't respond for a long moment. "The world is different than I thought," she said. "It is broader, more complex. In some ways, more beautiful."

Varric looked at her, the way the moonlight draped itself across her sharp cheekbones and and soft, full lips. He exhaled slowly, but it did nothing for the pressure in his chest. "Yeah," he said. "I can see that."

Her breath lengthened, and it wasn’t long before she fell asleep, leaving Varric to his thoughts.

He would tell her.

He’d tell her soon, before they returned to Skyhold. Not everything…not the _full_ extent of it, but enough. It was the only way to get some peace, one way or the other. 


	6. Chapter 6

“You seem quiet,” Evelyn said.

“We all have our quiet days, Lady Lyn,” Varric said noncommittally. They were travelling back to camp, having closed up the last rift in the graves. It was a bad day for thinking. The afternoon blazed and the air was feverish, hot and sticky and heavy on his back. Sharp, blinding pinpricks of light cut through the canopy of the trees and danced on the ground.

“ _You_ don’t,” Evelyn said, “You never have quiet days.” She was right. No matter the weather, Varric always had something to say --- a joke, an old story, a new tall tale or at the very least a complaint.

But now, he was too busy trying to think in this heat to speak. This situation with Cassandra ---

The truth was, Bianca had, in recent years, not really taken up much of his thoughts. Back when the wounds were still fresh, he was consumed with thoughts of her. Everything had reminded him of her. Everything had reminded him that he hadn’t been enough. After a few years he’d been able to choose when to think about her and when not to. By the time Daisy had asked for the story behind his crossbow, he’d gotten to the point that he only really thought about her when reading her letters or writing to her.

He wasn’t used to this, and it scared him. Every time Cassandra turned away, he felt hungry to see her face again. _Hungry_. It was ridiculous. He was too old for this.

“Varric,” Evelyn said. “Are you ---” Her words were cut off when she went careening to the ground.

“Lyn--!”

“Ah, crap. Sorry, I’m fine.” Evelyn pushed herself up to kneel on the ground and brushed her palms off against her thighs. A quick burst of magic healed up the cuts and scrapes on her hands and she sat back on her heels, sighing. “Well,” she said. “That was a bit embarrassing.”

“Only a bit?” Varric asked.

She snorted, sitting flat on the ground just as Cassandra doubled back to check on them.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Evelyn assured her. “I tripped on…well… _this_.” Her voice had taken on a curious tone.

Varric glanced down and immediately saw why. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“It’s a _door_ ,” Cassandra said. “But here? Why?”

Evelyn shook her head in confusion, pulling at vines that had crept along the forest floor. Varric knelt next to her, using his dagger to rip through them and clear the way. A mosquito buzzed around him and he dropped the dagger for a moment to kill it, exhaling sharply in annoyance. They’d found some new armor for him, armor that left his arms entirely bare. He appreciated the lack of stuffiness in this weather, but he could certainly live without having to swat bugs away every three minutes.

“There you go,” Varric breathed. With the vines cleared away he could see that the door was secured by two heavy locks.

“Think you can open them?” Evelyn asked.

“Piece of cake,” Varric promised, fishing his lockpicks out of his pocket.

Cassandra drifted over, curious. He couldn’t help but glance up at her, and he found that her gaze was strangely intent on his hands. Forcing himself to turn away, Varric got to work. When he was done he tossed the locks to the side and from the corner of his eye, he could almost swear he saw Cassandra’s eyes slowly drift up the exposed skin of his arms. A pleased shiver ran up his spine.

“I know,” Evelyn said, looking up at Cassandra. “It’s amazing how he does that, huh? I wish there was a spell for it.”

“He has very skilled hands,” Cassandra said. Then she started, as if she had only then realized what she had said. A flush crept up her neck. “I mean --- what I mean is, he has unexpectedly precise fingers. Hands. For opening locks. As all rogues do…well, I suppose not all.” Cassandra’s lips clamped shut and she leveled a glare at Evelyn, a glare that only grew darker when the mage beamed up at her happily.

“Hey,” Evelyn said, “I didn’t do anything.” Still grinning, she reached to pull the trapdoor open, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Cassandra has to do it,” Cole said suddenly. Everyone jumped a little. He had disappeared on them for a while, as he was wont to do. One would think they’d get used to his sudden reappearances, but they were always a bit startling.

“Why does the Seeker have to do it?” Varric asked.

“Three must help,” Cole said. “Justice favors all of you, I am already helping, and the last is Faith. Faith will only help Cassandra. Without each piece, it will not yield. Like a lock that Varric’s skilled fingers cannot open.”

“Kid, it’s a lot less enjoyable for me when _you_ awkwardly talk about my fingers,” Varric said. “Leave that to the Seeker. She has special permission.”

“Varric. Shut up,” Cassandra said. She dropped to her knees and yanked at the trapdoor, and it swung open with a force that gave them all pause.

“I ---” Evelyn said, “I swear, it was shut tight.”

“I guess Faith really is sweet on you,” Varric murmured. “Must be the cheekbones.”

Cassandra flushed bright red. “You are _horrible_ ,” she said, but the corner of her mouth was soft with a suppressed smile.

“What did I do?” Varric asked innocently. “Lady Lyn, we’re being so _good_ today, and she’s still angry.”

“I know,” Evelyn sighed. “I’m trying my best, really.”

Cassandra snorted and started climbing down the ladder, Evelyn close behind. Varric followed, his own cheeks warm with pleasure. 

Varric wasn’t an idiot. Cassandra was interested in him. The issue was, _interested_ meant nothing. Interested didn’t mean a damn thing when compared to the fact that he could barely sleep anymore.

Even if what Cassandra felt went beyond interested --- even if she wanted him, it just wasn’t enough. There was no doubt in his mind that Cassandra could set her feelings for someone on the backburner forever. She was a practical woman. If she couldn’t imagine things working in the long term, she’d leave it behind.

And Varric was afraid to assign a name to what he felt, but on some level, he knew what it was. And it was a hell of a lot more serious than simply wanting her.

Still. He’d spent too much of his life pining, and the thought of admiring her from afar, wondering what she felt, held no appeal. He would tell her.

“Wow,” Evelyn said, as Varric hopped down from the ladder. “This is amazing.”

The first thing Varric noticed was the absence of darkness, and then he heard the song.

“Lyrium,” Cassandra breathed.

“It’s huge. Strange for it to grow like this so close to the surface,” Varric said. Behind ceiling-high glass planes branches of the glowing mineral twisted upwards, bathing the room in a soft blue light. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, and they were packed with old books.

“The song here is a deep, sweet ache,” Cole said, sighing. “Grieving, lovely, lonely. It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Varric said, and Cassandra looked at him in surprise.

“You can hear it?” she asked.

“You can’t?”

“I hear a faint hum. Nothing more.”

“I only hear a hum too,” Evelyn said. “This place --- it’s a library. But it’s caked in dust.”

Varric pulled a book from the shelf, releasing a cloud of dust into the air, and opened it up. “Huh. Well, we’re not reading that.”

“It’s written in Elven,” Cole observed, running his fingers over the spines. “They all are. Hidden, lost in times of danger so that they can be found again in times of safety.”

“So no one found this place for centuries, but _we_ stumble on it by chance?” Cassandra asked.

“It was ready to be found,” Cole replied.

Evelyn was opening more books, confirming that they were all Elven. “We’ve got Elvhen scholars that can translate these. Some of these books might be of use to the Inquisition. The rest, I’m sure the Dalish will be interested to learn about ---” She trailed off, wandering to a different section of the library. Cole followed her, leaving Varric and Cassandra behind. 

Varric glanced up at Cassandra. The song of lyrium curled sweetly through the air.

“Seeker,” Varric said, his heart pounding. She turned to face him. He searched for his words, but for once they eluded him. “Seeker,” he tried again.

What was he doing? This wasn’t the time or the place. The Inquisitor and Cole could turn the corner and interrupt in a second. But Cassandra was gorgeous, her hair softly lit by blue light, and the urge to tell her swelled so powerfully in him that he began talking without thought. He was old. There were risks, and there were chances, chances that never lasted long enough to allow for hesitation.

And he would take this chance.

“I—” Varric began quietly, feeling his ears burn. “Listen, tell me if I’m shit out of my mind, but —”

“There’s nothing we can really do here yet,” Evelyn said, turning the corner to meet them again. “I’ll take a few books back with me, but let’s head out for now.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows, prompting him to continue, but Varric rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “Tell you later,” he said. And he meant it. He would tell her, and he’d do it before they set foot in Skyhold again.

* * *

“Cullen sent a letter,” Evelyn said.

Cassandra and Varric scooted apart at her approach; he hadn’t realized how close they had been sitting until Evelyn addressed them. They were near the fire, playing Wicked Grace with Cole. The kid was suspiciously good at the game, good enough that Varric was reasonably sure he had some way of knowing what everyone else’s cards were without looking. Cassandra was at the extreme opposite end --- everyone had their weaknesses, yes, but it was honestly ridiculous how hopeless she was at grasping even the fundamentals. Between the two of them, the game was giving him a headache, and Varric didn’t mind the distraction that Evelyn’s interruption offered the tiniest bit.

“He found a good lead on Samson,” Evelyn said. “And I do think we’ve finished all the work we can do around here. We’ll start the journey back to Skyhold in the morning.”

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra groaned. “I’ve reread the same three books about thirteen times. I need a long, hot bath, and then perhaps I’ll throw chairs at a certain dwarf until he writes the next chapter of Swords and Shields ---”

“Be nice to me, Seeker,” Varric warned, “Or Ms. Subtle over there will find another transparent reason to extend our trip.”

“If she does, I will kill her.”

“I’ll help.”

Cassandra snorted. “Be careful, Varric,” she said wryly. “You’re becoming reliable.”

“What’s this?” Evelyn asked. “I bring good news and all I get in return is mutiny! Honestly, there’s no pleasing some people.”

But as Varric watched Cassandra over the light of the fire, her eyes crinkling in mirth and fondness, he could say with perfect honesty that he was very, very pleased.


	7. Chapter 7

They set off towards Skyhold the next day, and made excellent time. Within two days they had reached a town. Varric loved going through towns -- they always stopped for the soft beds, a hearty supper and a bit of gossip.

He loved to wander, listening in on conversations for interesting tidbits and chatting up locals until they slipped and said things that made him think, _interesting_.

But today he couldn't focus. Today was the day. He would tell her, no matter what. They’d spent the last few days bantering, teasing each other, and it was driving him _insane_. They’d always been drawn to poking at each other, and now that they were closer that dynamic had expanded in a million interesting ways. And that wasn’t all.

Sometimes Cassandra looked at him with a special warmth in her eyes. Sometimes, he pretended to be asleep, and he felt her wake and spend a few more moments wrapped in his arms before rising for the day. Two of his books were hidden in the bottom of her pack. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

"Hot and sweet!" A child stood in front of a storefront, calling. "Hot and sweet!"

Thunder boomed and the crowd recoiled, staring up at the cloudless sky. "How odd," said one woman. There had been no lightening, no clouds, no rain, just that one clap of thunder.

The crowd recovered quickly. People went about shopping, laughing, and a couple of teenagers tried to suck each other's faces off in a nearby alley. Varric shook his head. Yeah, the thunder had been weird, but did they not notice the huge _rip_ in the sky?

What Varric would give to be this carefree.

It was in towns like this that he realized that their ragtag group was made of unusual people. Most went through their lives like these people, ignoring issues until a demon ripped through their window, or living in fear but doing nothing about it. At Skyhold, surrounded by those that were all trying to contribute in some way, it was easy to forget that problem-solvers were few and far between.

"Hey, Varric," Evelyn called. She weaved her way through the crowd to reach him, a task that was made easier by the fact that her dark skin, white hair and expensive staff easily identified her as the Inquisitor. "Walk with me?"

He shot her a curious look, but followed when she began to walk.

Evelyn took a moment to gather her words. "Are you…okay?” she asked, after a time. Varric took a moment to thank the Maker that their Inquisitor was at least more eloquent in front of crowds.

“Am I _okay_? Yes, I’m fine,” Varric said. “Why?”

“It’s just…” she paused. “Cole let slip something the other day. I don’t think he meant to, but you know once he starts rambling ---”

His gaze narrowed and he struggled to hide the way his heart was pounding. “What did he let slip?”

“You… ended it with Bianca?”

“Oh, that.” A wave of relief swept over him. “Yeah, I did.” It felt like ages ago, but it had only been a few months.

Evelyn stopped walking and turned to face him. The crowd parted to make room for her. “Do you --- so, I mean, are you _okay_? I know she was important to you, considering---” She gestured to Bianca where it was strapped to his back.

“Listen, I’m just as shocked as you are about this, but…I’m fine.”

“ _Really_?”

“Bianca’d already hurt me, and this was nothing else I could work towards with her. That made her…safe, as weird as that sounds. And I was used to loving her. It was just part of who I was. So, I held on. I held on for way longer than I should have. It felt good to let go.”

“So you don’t love her at all anymore?”

“Nothing’s ever that simple, Lady Lyn. But I’ve really moved on, and I’m really okay.”

Evelyn sighed. “Is there anything _else_ bothering you?”

Varric let a charming smile slip on to his face. “No,” he lied. “So you can relax.”

"Well. You’ll be even more okay as time goes on,” she declared.

"Oh, it's that much of a sure thing, huh?"

"Absolutely. When you find someone worthy of you, I call dibs on your kid’s middle name."

Varric laughed. "I’ve be sure to save it for you, Lady Lyn.”

Satisfied that he wasn’t suffering through some horrible, hidden heartbreak, Evelyn wandered off to find a buyer for the junk they’d picked up along their journey, leaving Varric to his thoughts.

Varric ducked into a nearby shop absentmindedly and was hit by the most mouthwatering combination of scents he'd ever experienced. He was at the counter before he even knew what he was doing, and when he looked up at the shopkeeper, he was shocked by his luck.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” he said, “But you seem Nevarran.”

The shopkeeper tilted his head. “I am. Why?”

“…Would you take a custom order?”

Something glinted in the shopkeeper’s eye. He leaned forward, eyeing Varric with interest. “That depends on what you’re willing to pay, my friend.”

Varric left the store with a bag full of overpriced pastries and no plan on how to actually give them to the woman they were for. And then he heard it.

"You've _no_ right to speak to her that way!" Cassandra's voice.

He weaved around the gathering crowds, following the sound of her ranting. Finally, he caught sight of her, and what he saw gave him pause. There was a child with Cassandra, a child that was hiding behind her as she tore the man at the fruit stall a new one. Varric felt a swoop of fondness. Typical Cassandra --- leave her alone for a minute and she’d find someone to protect.

And someone to yell at.

"Lady Seeker," the man said, "She stole. And she is nobody, some orphan, perhaps. I do not recognize her from anywhere, and we are a small town–"

"She is a _child_. She was probably hungry. Scold her for her theft, yes, but for you to call her –"

"It was wrong of me, wrong of me to call her such a vulgar name," the man agreed. "My anger took hold of my better senses."

He wasn’t sorry at all. Varric could tell, and from the way Cassandra scoffed in disgust before she turned away, leading the child with her, she could tell too.

“Seeker,” he called, and she turned at the sound of his voice. Her face brightened when she caught sight of him, and that was enough to make him grin.

"I have something to show you," she said, when he caught up with them, "but first--" She glanced down at the child, who was clinging to her arm. "Are you hungry?"

"No," the girl said. Varric tried to get a good look at her, but her face was buried in Cassandra's arm.

“Then why did you steal food?" Cassandra asked.

"I was supposed to. And I only got caught because I wanted to!" The girl said. "I can sneak way better than that."

"Right," Cassandra said dryly. "You stole food because you were _supposed_ to and got caught because you _wanted_ to, and you are not hungry."

"Well," the girl said. "I'm a little hungry?"

That was how they ended up at the inn, watching a child work her way through a bowl of ram stew.

Varric stared at her. "Um, Seeker..."

"I...am noticing, Varric."

"That kid looks _exactly_ like you."

It was true. The little girl had Cassandra's golden skin, arched brows and dark hair, and when she tilted her face a little he could even make out a suggestion of the cheekbones. Her hair was short, just long enough to be pulled into a ponytail, and her clothes were...nice. Nice enough to disprove the cart-keeper's guess that she was an orphan.

"She may be a Pentaghast," Cassandra said lowly. "That is all we know. For now, let her eat. I -- I wish to deal with something else." Without further explanation, she shoved a package in his lap.

He looked up at her in askance, and she shrugged.

"It is...a book," she said.

"For me?"

"Yes. It's poetry. That I like. I thought you might too, and that if you did, we might discuss it, but if you do not, don't feel too guilty to--"

"I'm sure I'll like it, Seeker." His heart clenched. "Thank you. I actually got you something too, although it's nothing as nice as a book."

Cassandra accepted the bag of treats with wide, hopeful eyes. When she opened it to find fresh-baked Nevarran pastries, she actually moaned. "Varric, how did you – thank you!"

She seemed so excited that Varric actually laughed in pleasure. Had he ever made her that happy before? He wasn't sure, but he loved it.

It took them a second to notice that the girl had stopped eating and was staring at the bag like a mabari would stare at a piece of steak.

Cassandra paused. Varric could tell she didn’t want to share. "There are six," she said, haltingly, "You may have one."

Varric snorted. He was starting to become very fond of the way Cassandra could simultaneously be kind and grumpy.

"Thank you!" the girl said, taking a pastry. "I know they're your favorite!"

The fond smile dropped off his face, and Cassandra’s expression darkened.

"How do --- how _do_ you know that?" Cassandra asked. Realization dawned on her face. “Did someone send you?”

The girl paled. "No!"

Varric wasn’t sure he bought it; there was no good reason that the girl should know anything about Cassandra’s preferences.

"Kid,” Varric said, “It might help your case if you told us who you are."

The girl hesitated. "I'm Antonia.” She turned to face Cassandra, her chin raised in an all-too familiar show of determination. “And I knew because you're my Mama."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Kid,” Varric said, “It might help your case if you told us who you are."
> 
> The girl hesitated. "I'm Antonia.” She turned to face Cassandra, her chin raised in an all-too familiar show of determination. “And I knew because you're my Mama."

There was a beat of silence. Cassandra’s face twisted into a look of disbelief.

“You,” Cassandra said, with a dry laugh, “are a very poor liar."

“I am not!” Antonia insisted. “I’m a _great_ liar. Even Aunt —”

“I am not sure how much you know of such things,” Cassandra said, her voice colored by amusement. “But while a man can have a child without knowing it, a woman can not.”

“I’m not a baby. I already know that,” Antonia said. “But you haven’t had me yet. I’m from the future.”

“The future,” Cassandra echoed flatly. “Is this some joke? Whoever sent you must think I believe every tall tale I hear.”

“Well,” Varric said, consideringly, “to be fair, you believed  me when —”

“Don’t you dare remind me,” she grouched, but her voice held a hint of amusement, a far cry from how she would have taken the joke only a few months ago. She turned back to the girl, her eyes sharp. “ _You _would do well to tell us the truth.”

“That is the truth! I came through a rift. Some of them can pull you through time.”

Varric and Cassandra both froze.

“A rift?” Cassandra asked, her voice hesitant.

“Yes, a  rift. Oh –” Here the girl’s face lit up. “Papa said if you didn’t believe me, I should remind you about Nuggie.”

“What—what do you know about — ?” 

“He was your dragon baby doll. Uncle Antony carved him for you when you were little, and you named him Nuggie, and you pretended to be a dragon so that you could be his Mama. For a _month_ you wouldn’t speak, you would only growl and roar!”

“It was only for a  _day_ ,” Cassandra said. Her voice dropped low with astonishment. “ _How_ — I was so young, and I never told a soul about that.”

“Not yet, but you will. You’ll tell me. And you’ll tell Papa.” The girl had smiled at the memory. “Papa laughed so much when you told that story.”

“ _ Shit _ ,” Varric whispered. Antonia shot him a look of outrage, but he ignored it. Casandra hadn’t even noticed the curse; she'd gone very, very still. Varric took one look at her expression and felt sick to his stomach.

There was no lie.

This girl, this very  _human_ girl with her very human father —  _this_ was what Cassandra’s future held.

It seemed Varric wouldn’t be confessing after all.

* * *

They were fast tracking it back to Skyhold. They couldn't spend days out and about with a kid in tow, and they couldn't very well leave her behind. Varric glanced back. Cassandra and Antonia were sharing a horse, and the girl sat behind Cassandra, arms wrapped around her waist, head resting on her back. The rest of the crew rode ahead, trying to give the pair some space to talk, but privacy or no, they weren’t talking. Cassandra hadn’t said a word since she realized the girl’s story checked out.

Varric stared off into the distance, trying to settle his mind. When they’d gone to get Evelyn and Cole, it was Varric’s expression that had first alerted Evelyn that something was off. She’d asked Varric what was wrong twice before she even noticed the blank-faced Cassandra and the little girl hiding behind her. Maker only knew what he’d looked like; he knew he  _felt_ like shit.

The sound of a horse approaching startled Varric from his thoughts; Cassandra had pulled up beside him.

“ _Varric_ ,” she said, her first word in quite a while. “This is — I —”

“Your daughter. From the future. Congratulations, Seeker," Varric said. He was proud of how steady his voice was.

"You  _believe_ her?" Cassandra asked.

Antonia lifted her head and frowned at Cassandra's back.

"Weird shit has been happening all year,” Varric said. “Lady Lyn and Sparkler got sent through time, didn't they? And she looks exactly like you."

“Her eyes do not.”

Resigned to being spoken about as if she wasn’t present, Antonia pressed her cheek against Cassandra’s back, facing away from Varric.

“Seeker…” Varric began. He trailed off, realizing he wasn’t sure what to say.

"She could be _any_ Pentaghast,” Cassandra said. “A relative that resembles me. I never imagined being a mother."

Varric stayed silent. A part of him hoped it wasn't true. The thought of Cassandra having another man's child…Maker, he couldn’t think about it. His throat was twisting itself into a tight, aching knot.

The last time he felt like this, it'd taken him a decade and a half to move on.

"Besides," Cassandra said. "The time magic is done with. Alexius is in Skyhold's prison."

"If someone did it once," Varric said, "someone else could've done it again."

"You think she is mine? Truly?"

"Yes," Varric said, forcing the words out even though each one ached, "a part of me knew before she said it. I looked at her and I just…I saw you. Not just a Pentaghast. You."

Cassandra looked at him, her eyes uncharacteristically terrified. Varric sighed, resisting the urge to reach out. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to comfort  _himself._

Because he'd managed it again — he'd fallen hard for a woman that he could never, ever have.

* * *

A scout sent word ahead. He was given only the barest details: that they would soon be arriving, and that a child was accompanying them.

By the time they arrived at Skyhold, men were waiting to take their horses and their bags. Josephine, poised and elegant as ever, stood amongst them.

“Oh Maker,” she breathed, watching Cassandra and Antonia unmount from their horses.

“Hello,” Antonia greeted, and then yawned widely. “We’ve been riding for just _ages_. Horses can be fun, but not for that long.”

Cassandra and Josephine shared a significant look over her head.

“I suspected that there was more to your message,” Josephine said, her eyes flitting between Antonia and Cassandra. “But _this_ — I —” The ambassador turned to one of the men and instructed him to fetch Cullen and Leliana to the war room.

Cassandra’s lips thinned as she turned to face the young girl for the first time in hours. She nodded her head in the direction of the main tower. “This way.”

The girl reached carelessly for the Cassandra’s hand, but dropped it quickly when the older woman stiffened like a board. Varric winced.

“Lady Seeker!” A voice rang out. “and Master Tethras.” A figure crossed the courtyard to meet them. As she drew closer, Varric recognized her as Maria — Haley's aunt from the refugee camp at the Emerald Graves. Her eyes were bright with excitement, excitement that made her blind to the tense and heavy mood. She rambled on cheerfully:

“I’m not sure if you remember me, but my name is Maria Hammerstein. I just wanted to thank you again for your help with Haley —my niece, do you remember? I’ve brought her up here to be raised, you know, so that I could help the Inquisition. I’m no warrior, but I’m excellent at cooking, cleaning, making clothes and the like — anything I can do.”

Evelyn sensed that neither Varric nor Cassandra were in any state to engage with the poor woman. She stepped forwards herself, clasping Maria’s hands in her own. “If the Inquisition was just made up of warriors and mages, everything would fall apart in a day and a half,” Evelyn said. “Thank you for coming to help.”

Maria blushed, wide-eyed. With her expensive robes and staff, Evelyn cut an intimidating figure. “Oh, you’re welcome, your grace,” Maria said. “The Inquisition is doing good work, making a real difference.”

“I must ask, how is Haley fairing?” Evelyn asked. “I know that our keep might not be the most accommodating place for a child.”

“Oh, she’s all right. There is no school, of course, but I was a schoolteacher before the war, so I give her lessons myself. She knows better than to climb the battlements or go near the smith, and otherwise Skyhold is the safest place there is right now.”

“I suppose it is,” Evelyn said thoughtfully.

Maria’s eyes finally lighted on the small figure behind Cassandra. She inhaled sharply. “Lady Seeker…a child? Is she—"

Cassandra shook her head quickly. “You…are familiar with my history,” she said.

“I suppose she _couldn’t_ be yours, then,” Maria realized. “You never had the time. A relative, then. Well, hello.”

“Um…hello,” Antonia said. She tried to hide behind her mother. Cassandra allowed it, but her discomfort was plain.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Evelyn said. “We’ve got to make arrangements for her stay.”

“Of course, of course! Thank you for taking the time to welcome me, your Grace.”

The second that they stepped away Josephine wrapped an arm around Evelyn’s, pulling her away from Varric and Cassandra. They whispered urgently to each other as Evelyn filled her in about what had happened.

“Where are we going, Mama?” Antonia asked.

“The war room,” Cassandra said. “And do not call me that, Antonia.”

“Oh. Because I have to be secret, right?” The girl didn’t seem offended, but if she knew the truth she probably would be.

Yes, they would almost certainly have to keep the girl a secret, but Varric suspected Cassandra’s objection had far more to do with not wanting to acknowledge that Antonia was her child. 

Despite Cassandra's discomfort, Antonia was in high spirits as they passed through the main hall and Josephine's office, eyeing each room with eager curiosity.  She’d probably heard of the Seeker's work with the Inquisition, heard of Skyhold. She probably thought this trip through time was some grand adventure.

 _It’s a disaster, that’s what it is,_ Varric thought ungenerously.

Josephine paused at the door to the war room, turning to face them. “It would be best if I went in first,” she said, “and…prepared them.”

“Yes,” Evelyn agreed. She glanced at Antonia and then glanced quickly away. “Yes, you should…tell them what to expect.”

With that settled, Josephine slipped into the room. The door swung shut behind her.


	9. Chapter 9

Varric was three drinks in when Cassandra came to talk to him.

The others had picked a table in the middle of the tavern, and Varric had begun the night sitting with them. He slid a smile on to his face and cracked enough witty jokes to cheer everyone up, if only to convince them all that he was fine. They believed it easily enough. They had no reason to think he _wouldn't_ be fine, after all — they were all shocked, but this burden was Cassandra's. They didn't know. They didn't know, and he had no interest in letting them find out.

An hour or two in and everyone was drunk enough that they didn't notice Varric slip away and find a new, isolated spot in the corner of the room. He called the barkeep over for one more drink and nursed it, drowsy in the crowded heat of the tavern. He wasn't sure how long he had been waiting when she arrived.

"Why aren't you with the others?" Cassandra asked, finding him in his corner. 

Varric smiled wryly. "Waiting for you," he said, finding that this was the truth as he said it. "Figured you'd want the privacy."

"I do," she said. "I...had hoped you would still be here, but I did not expect it."

She sat heavily, looking lost and far away. "I miss Antony," she said. She swallowed, looked away from Varric and then back again. Finally she couldn't hold it anymore; her face crumpled and her eyes filled with tears. She hid her face before wiping them away, and stubbornly refused to let any more break through.

Varric tossed some coin on the table and grabbed her hand. "Come on," he said.

"Where—?"

"I waited here because I knew you'd look here, but there are better places to talk," he said. "Trust me."

She trusted him.

She allowed herself to be led out into the night, which was soothingly cool after the cramped heat of the tavern. They crossed the training ground and made their way to the gardens behind the chapel. It was empty, and thick with the earthy scent of elfroot and the sweetness of embrium.

There, Cassandra slumped on to the bench and buried her head in her hands. It took a few deep breaths of the night air before she was able to raise her head, having conquered the threat of tears.

"She wanted me to hold her," Cassandra said. "To comfort her. To _cuddle_."

"I take it that you didn't."

"I could not."

Varric sighed. "You held Haley," he pointed out.

"Haley is not _my_ child."

"...so you're convinced."

"Yes," she said. "I — yes, I am." Her own admission seemed to send her into a panic. "It can't be true, but it is. She is mine."

"Cassandra," Varric said, firmly, and she looked up in surprise at the sound of her actual name. "The way she described it, you were happy. _Blissful_ , even. This might not be what you expected, but—"

"I could not bear bliss," Cassandra said, and Varric froze. "I could not bear it. "

Varric studied her carefully under the dim glow of the garden torches. "What can you bear?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

She laughed humorlessly. "Not _marriage_. Not a child. I wonder, who else would die while I lived on in that _bliss_ , oblivious to the world around me?"

"Just because you have a child doesn't mean there's nothing you can do to help others," Varric said. "Shit, Aveline was married and Captain of the damn guard and she still found hours everyday to run around with Hawke. You can be more than one thing." Inwardly he wondered why he was doing this; if Cassandra avoided her future, there was a chance for him. For them.

But he didn't like this thought of hers, that happiness and peace was for everyone else but her, that it was her responsibility to martyr herself so that everyone _else_ could have their bliss.

For many moments she was silent. And then, she said,

"Antony used to hold me like she asked me to. I loved him so much, and I — I felt safer knowing that he was near, that I could see him, that he wouldn't leave me the way that —” Here she trailed off, closing her eyes with a tired sigh. "If this challenge was an enemy to slay, or even some political nonsense that would frustrate me to no end — if it were that, I could handle it without hesitation. I'm experienced in such matters, you could say. But this? A child in need of love? That was his specialty, not mine. For all that I revere love, I am no good at it. I loved once, with Regalyan, and felt bliss, and _with_ that bliss the guilt and gaping absence of my brother, of the one who would be proud and happy for me. And so I ran from Regalyan. But a mother's love is not something I have right to run off with, and a child can not take being left behind the way a grown man can."

"Maybe—” Varric paused, weighing his choices. If he told her to run from bliss, perhaps he could have her. He could have her — and Maker knew he wanted her. Needed her, even.

He decided to lose her instead.

"Maybe, the Maker sent you a child so that you couldn't run," he said. "So that you'd finally have to accept the love he's been trying to give you, that you keep running away from." He forced himself to smile. "Could be he's been tearing his hair out up there. Guilt and absence — I know it. Not like you. The people I lost weren't like your brother. They definitely didn't hold me. I can't say I never wanted them to, but they didn't, and that's that I guess — so it wasn't the same kind of loss, and I won't pretend it was. But it _was_ loss, and it is a burden, and Seeker, I think you could bear it if you tried. All of it. Grief and bliss all at once. If you tried hard enough for long enough, if you had faith that you are _supposed_ to have both, you could figure out how they balance."

"I don't know _how_ to hold a child."

"Yes you do," Varric said. "Your brother taught you. It'll take some practice, but if you didn't learn it, your daughter wouldn't have come from the future confident that you knew how."

For a long time Cassandra stared off into the garden, grappling with what he'd said. Then, haltingly, she reached for his hand in the dark, and he folded it into his own.

"Antony would have liked you," she said.

Varric smiled, dipping his head to hide the hurt edges of it. "I think I would've liked him too," he said. "I've got a special fondness for that branch of Pentaghasts."

\---------

Back in his room, Varric realized that the Maker was telling _him_ something, too. Just as Cassandra had always run from love, he had always run towards it. Desperately. With all of his heart. And something had always, always taken it from him.

As he thought of it he realized that this was not new knowledge for him.

A part of him had never expected it to work between him and the Seeker. He had been willing to take what he could get, but he hadn't been happy to discover that he'd been falling in love again.

Because he knew. He knew. He'd been bracing himself from the start.

Really, all he'd wanted was a short time to pretend she could be his, to gorge himself on that happiness. In the end, he'd always known it couldn't be him. It never was him.

He imagined the man that was meant for Cassandra. It was probably someone like the Cullen, or a man similar to Evelyn. A brave, self-sacrificing, kind man — some mage or warrior. They'd be a knight enchanter or a chevalier or an ex-Templar that had never been comfortable with the tyrannical turn the order had taken. A leader.

An honest man who didn't know how to lie well enough to be a rogue. Antonia, if she was as sneaky as she claimed, must slip away from the pair of them and giggle about how Mama and Papa couldn't find her.

And wasn't that _adorable?_

Varric dragged a comb through his hair and tied it back up, wrestling with the bitterness that was swelling inside of him. Just the thought of Antonia and her damn father made him sick and angry.

Nobody was really happy that she was here. That made Varric feel all the more guilty for hating her.

Perhaps hate was a strong word, he thought, casting his mind back to the events earlier in the day.

The kid hadn't broken under interrogation. Varric had felt a tug of admiration for her spirit, before he reminded himself that she was living proof that Cassandra would love another man. 

But damn. That stubbornness was _all_ Cassandra.

Earlier in the day, they had filed into the war room and the door had closed behind them. Immediately Leliana had gotten to work extracting information from Antonia. She tried every method — she had at first anticipated a frightened child, assuring Antonia that they could keep her safe once she shared everything she knew. When it had become apparent that Antonia was not afraid she switched tactics and tried kindness. They were all friends, her attitude seemed to soothingly say. It was only natural to be open with each other. But that didn't work either.

"So you will not tell us _anything_ about the future you come from?" Leliana asked.

"No. I'm not supposed to."

"But you admitted freely that Cassandra is your mother."

"Well, you wouldn't keep me around if I didn't at least admit that much, right? Everyone says I look like Mama anyway."

"Antonia," Cassandra said, wincing at the name. "Whatever you can tell us can save lives."

"Or make people die. That's what Papa said."

Cassandra swallowed. "And who is this...Papa?"

Antonia shrugged, but just the mention of her Papa brought a small smile to her face. 

"We can keep you in this room until you tell us more," Leliana said.

"And I won't. I still won't. Everything is happy in the future. If I say the wrong thing it might not be. I might say something and end up not being born. I might say something and make people die. That's what Papa said."

"Our obligation to you — if you can _call_ it that — is a room and food," Leliana said. Varric felt a cold chill run down his spine at the look in her eye. "But we can provide those things without light, without human contact."

"But we _won't_ ," Cassandra said. "Because frustrating or not, I will not stand for such methods being used on her."

"Cassandra, think of the lives that could be saved! This girl--"

"Makes a good point. She is here, healthy, alive. Inquisitor, did it seem that anyone would seem so well cared for in the future you once witnessed?"

"No a chance," Evelyn said. "It was a mess."

"Clearly, then, the future as it stands seems hopeful. Any deviation in our choices could ruin it, rather than help."

Leliana fell silent. She ceded, but Varric could tell she didn't agree. If the kid wasn't Cassandra's she would've pushed harder for harsher methods.

"So," Leliana said, exhaling through her nose. "What do we do with her?"

"She's not supposed to be here," Evelyn said, stepping out of the corner. "She's right. Anything she could say might be dangerous. And if anyone discovers what happened, _she'll_ be in danger. We have to send her back. The question is how?"

"No one will discover what's happened," Leliana said. "Antonia will be --a distant Nevarran cousin of Cassandra's, here to...come out into society."

"At Skyhold?" Josephine shook her head. "This is a fortress, not a town in Orlais. And the girl is far too young to be in society. No one will believe it."

Leliana eyed Antonia critically. "Do you have any skill in battle?" Leliana asked.

Josephine seemed silently outraged at the question. 

"I'm good with a bow," Antonia said.

"A bow?" Cullen, who had been silently observing, shot Cassandra a look. "Not...a sword?"

"No, I don't like swords," Antonia said. "It's hard to be sneaky with a sword."

Cassandra winced. "Maybe she's _not_ mine."

Antonia whirled to face her, fire in her eyes. "I am yours, Mama. I get it. You're not happy to know you'll have me. But I'm here, and I'll really be here in your time one day, so stop it! I'm _yours_!"

The silence was deafening. Cassandra opened her mouth to respond, no doubt to counter Antonia's assertion that she wasn't happy to know she had a child. But she couldn't counter it. She had never imagined herself as a mother, and having her child stand in front of her didn't change that.

"Well," Varric said, if only to bring sound back into the room. "I for one don't think bows are that bad."

Antonia shot him a look that was so grateful that he turned away. He felt bad for the kid, but he also wished she didn't exist.

"Who trained you?" Leliana asked. "Cassandra could not have done so."

"A lot of people train me," Antonia said, hugging herself. "You're one of them."

"I--you know me?"

"Yes, I know you, Aunt Lily." Her words were an accusation. 

Leliana's lips thinned. She was uncomfortable with the familiarity. "We will say she is here to train," she said. "Cassandra is overseeing her training, as her eldest...cousin."

"Ah," Josephine said, letting out a short breath of relief. "That's what you meant. To train? Yes, that will work. If asked we will say she is from the Bayne branch of the Pentaghasts...it will take some time for the news to even reach them, as they are so deeply entrenched in the Nevarran countryside, and even when they do find out their political situation is such that they would not dare directly challenge the Inquisition's word and will instead send a letter asking for clarification --" Josephine blinked, clearing her throat. "In short," she said, blushing. "It will work. I will arrange it."

"In a meantime," Cullen said, "We cannot very well let this child run around Skyhold unsupervised. Soldiers and mages train here, armor is forged -- it is dangerous for a child."

"I will take care of her," Cassandra said. "She is...my responsibility."

"As for sending her back," Evelyn said, "Magic sent her here. Magic will send her back. I'll consult with Dorian and Solas, and perhaps drag Alexius up here to be useful for once...we'll figure something out." She paused, her expression softening. "How are you feeling, Antonia?"

The girl shrugged, still hugging herself. "I kind of want to be alone."

Josephine shot Cassandra a worried look. The ambassador extended a hand towards the girl, and she took it readily. "I will find you a room. It will be all yours from now on. How does that sound?"

"It sounds good," Antonia said, but her voice was so quiet and so sad that her words fell flat.

They'd left together, and Cassandra hadn't followed them.

Varric wasn't sure when she'd ended up in Antonia's room, facing requests for cuddles. No doubt her sense of duty had led her there begrudgingly. Duty never failed to move Cassandra.

Varric sighed, unpacking the few things he'd been lugging around through their journeys. He paused, his eyes catching on the package Cassandra had given him.

With shaking hands he unwrapped it. The book inside was bound in lovely blue leather, and when he opened it he found that Cassandra had written inside of it.

_To Varric_

_These poems are banned in Ferelden, but I enjoy them._

_I hope you enjoy them as well._

_Also, note that not one poet here compares hair to oranges._

Varric laughed lightly, tracing the words she'd written in the book with his fingers. He had never seen her handwriting before. It was nothing like her moves in battle or her voice as she read. He could see the moments of hesitation, the areas where the ink pooled for just a moment as she wrestled with what to write next.

Varric closed his eyes. "You need to calm down," he whispered, to the empty room. "You'll get over her. You're not fourteen." And then, "You can move on. Just give it time."

Unbidden a memory came to his mind: a memory of him waiting, fingering the ring in his pocket with increasingly sweaty hands. "She'll show up," he told himself then, "She's late, but she'll show up."

But Varric was lying to himself then, and knew in his heart he was lying to himself now.


End file.
